To Own Another
by Gray Wings
Summary: Life is a mess; Subaru decides it is one worth sharing. AU
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This story is Xposted to _seiXsub LJ_. I decided to post it on FFnet for those who do not have an LJ account. :) First five chapters are done, so I am posting them all at once. Update dates range.

**_Property of CLAMP. I make no profit - just love from a distance. _**

Enjoy.

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><p>His eyes sting, bleary and red-rimmed. Aches warm his lower back, his thighs, pool into his calves and oh, he has to sit down. The tiles of the bathroom floor are cool under him, and hard. His legs tuck themselves underneath his body in perfect <em>seiza<em>, almost out of habit but mostly because he wants to feel the ceramic scratch against his knees. The mosaic is a hypnotic mesh of rectangles, squares, crosses. He scrapes the contours of one with his nail with his eyes closed. Sleep, he could –no, he couldn't. Why?

Fine trembles dance under the skin of his hands, pale against the chrome floor. Modern, Hokuto had wanted a modern home. He doesn't mind, but sometimes he misses the simplicity of Grandmother's house. A flat-floored shower stall takes some getting used to, after eighteen years of bucket-aided baths. But that's not what he misses. The _ofuro _was nice, though. He wishes he could soak in one now; the scalding water will relax his flesh, keep his joints from feeling a shake away from detachment.

What to do today. He blinks his eyes at the boy in the bathroom mirror, noting the crooked angle his head is bent in. Subaru straightens his neck—funny, he didn't realize he had. Well. The boy blinks back at him. Yes, what to do.

It is Saturday, so the shop will be closed. Not Sunday yet, no church. They have a maid now, so no chores either, and—maybe he should go back to bed. Yes. He should sleep, Hokuto always says so. Where is she? She—ah, yes. New York. She had finally gotten to go. He is happy for her, really. It is just so hard sometimes, with no one to tell him what to do.

The boy in the mirror suddenly appears smug. _I caught you_, his eyes seem to say, _You want it_.

Subaru shakes his head, pushes up from the floor. His legs tingle unpleasantly, so he crawls the way back to their bed. Sleep the day away – tomorrow, there would be something to do.

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><p>The house is dark and quiet. Strange, considering the sun is only half-way its journey across the sky and, being mid-July, Tokyo is bathed in sunlight.<p>

Hokuto steps inside their apartment, closing the door softly. _Subaru_, she wants to call, because she is suddenly anxious to see her brother. Two weeks apart – fourteen days too long. Why had she not taken him with her? Oh. But he is probably sleeping, and if he is she should not wake him. But she needs to see him. So she tiptoes to the door painted blue but pure black on the other side, and quietly pushes it open.

He is a noticeable lump in the foot of the bed, squished under green covers and turquoise pillows so only a tuft of black hair is visible. Not a foot, not a finger ever escapes the cocoon, yet she knows he is as naked as a babe underneath. Never understood how that particular habit formed, but she doesn't mind, and no one else knows.

Relieved, she closes the door and makes her way to the living room. The couch – a silly, half-green, half-red monstrosity which tries its best to swallow anyone and anything that presumes to sit upon it – seems inviting.

She falls asleep in her clothes, a pink frilly dress and thin yellow sweater sporting a huge sunflower over the left breast. That is how Subaru finds her the next morning, and she wakes up with her brother's head on her stomach and his arms around her hips.

"How was your trip?" He asks, playing with the fake petals of the fake flower crumpled between the sofa and her chest.

"Wonderful. New York…glistens," she draws on his cheek with her fingers, a butterfly, a dragon, "I am taking you next time."

"Mhm," Subaru doesn't really care, but he is happy, and so is she. And-oh!

"Oh!" Hokuto suddenly sits up, almost dumping Subaru on the floor, "Sorry, _otouto_. But I forgot! I mean, I remember now, so I guess I didn't forget, but still—he expected me to call, and I forgot!"

"He?" Subaru sits up now, suddenly fully there, "Who is _he_?"

Hokuto giggles, pretends to be coy, "Oh, you know, just a handsome rich businessman I met on my way back."

"Hokuto," Subaru is not impressed, his hands white-knuckled around fistfulls of couch-stuffing.

"Relax! I am teasing. Really," she leans to smooch his cheek, yesterday's lipstick leaving dark smears on his cheek, "He is just a nice guy I met on the plane. We talked so much – the entire ride over, really! Fascinating person, knows so much, and about the strangest things!" Hokuto pauses, gives Subaru a sly look, "You will really like him, Subaru-kun."

"Me?" Subaru is obviously at a loss, big brown eyes blinking at her in an adorable manner, "What do I matter?"

"Oh, Subaru," Hokuto sighs, but decides against pursuing the matter of his careless wording, "You matter, because it is _you_ he wants to see – I was supposed to call him, so we could arrange a date for you to meet."

Subaru has gone very, very still. "Why?" he asks in a small, confused voice, and Hokuto hugs him close and pets him for a good long while before she answers.

"Because. I talked about you – I always do, you know. And he-" she pauses, but keeps petting Subaru's hair, "-I don't know why. But he suddenly wanted to know…more."

Only now does it seem odd to her, the stranger's interest in her brother. What had brought it on? They had been talking about something mundane – tea, or was it, no. Oh, Buddhism! Yes, she had been telling him about Grandmother's _otera_ and how she had been taught to read on Buddhist scripture, and how Subaru was just _so _adorable in a _kasaya_, and…

"This Subaru," his voice had halted her speech, "You speak of him often. Is he a relative of yours?"

"No, he is closer than that," she had laughed, and, okay, maybe she had been one glasses too many into the complimentary wine, "He is my twin. My Subaru-kun."

"Subaru-kun," it sounded different, deeper, coming from his mouth. She had stared, until he smiled in that gentle, sunny way of his, "Tell me about him."

He had listened, she remembered – listened so well and held so still, as if every word was of the greatest importance. She could no longer recall what she had said, but surely it was not that interesting?

"Hokuto?" Subaru touches her cheek, hesitant, and she shakes the memory away with a smile for him, "Never mind. Let's go to lunch, ne? To that Western restaurant you like so much?"

"It's Russian," he mumbles, but stumbles off her obediently. The blue shirt looks nice on him, Hokuto thinks, highlights the gentleness of his face somehow. The baggy jeans could use some work though – maybe a pair of her denims will fit him.

"You are not going to?"

"What?" She asks, already halfway to their room.

"Call," Subaru is making coffee; she smiles at the familiar pitter-patter of him in the kitchen, "You said you forgot, but you remember now."

Hokuto says nothing for a long while, stares at the black skirt she has unearthed in her search of pants for Subaru. It is rough in her hands; she rests her cheek against it, nuzzles against the worn cotton.

"No, I don't think I do," her voice, but so faint. Hokuto drops the skirt, decides against dressing Subaru up for once.

"Let's go, let's go!" She sings out, skips out of the bedroom and latches on Subaru's arm. If he is surprised, he does not show it and allows her to drag him outside without a word of protest.

But he does not forget. Someone wants to meet _him_ – no, he does not forget.

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><p><strong>Vocabulary:<strong>

**Seiza** – Japanese sitting position: legs under one's body, back straight. Nowadays, mostly used by ikebana, calligraphy, or kimono etiquette teachers – not too common with the younger generation

**Ofuro** – traditional Japanese bath. The etiquette to using it is to wash one's body before entering the ofuro, since its water is usually shared by several people (a family, if a family bath). It is usually very narrow (by Western standards) and, depending on the house's construction, may be a depression in the bathroom floor rather than a raised bath. The water is scalding hot (reminiscent of onsen), and must be kept so for the next person by means of covering the bath after one is done soaking in it

**Otouto** – younger brother

**Kasaya** – the name for traditional Buddhist robes


	2. Chapter 2

**Do not own; all characters belong to CLAMP.** Carry on~

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><p>"Did you call?"<p>

Hokuto looks up from the glassy magazine, stares. Subaru is not looking at her, at anything – his eyes are closed, chin resting on crossed arms. She wonders if he has really spoken.

Silence reigns for a while, broken by the glassy clatter of the wind chime above the door. Tuesdays are slow, but today it too peaceful. Tokyo used to have more of a spark. She turns a page, but pays no heed to the pretty girl in a blonde wig posing in front of a shiny new Honda. Except maybe the ecstatic green of her fingernails – cute. It would accent the skirt she is working on quite nicely, if she adds a bit of pink.

Now he is looking at her; she can feel his eyes like an itch on her skin, "What is it, Subaru-kun?" she smiles, always smiles for him. He repeats,

"Did you call?"

and the smile dims, slips completely. She hides behind the magazine, turns a page.

"Whom?" but she knows; it is the second time he has asked in half as many weeks. Subaru gives her another blank look; he knows she is pretending, but won't say anything. He never does. This is probably the first time she has been grateful for it – _how awful_.

"Ne, Subaru-kun," the magazine flops on the glass table with a sad _thud_, "You keep asking me about something or another. Now let me ask you: did _you_ call?"

The change is immediate. The cashier jingles, and Subaru – straight-backed and solemn – begins to close up for the day. His eyes do not leave his fingers, and Hokuto feels terrible and angry all at once.

"Subaru," she sighs, jumps down from her perch on the caramel-colored sofa – the newest addition to their small boutique. A luxurious little thing, and quite expensive it was, but so worth the price. She could – and would, on Tuesdays – lounge on it all day long; Subaru, of course, avoids it like the plague.

Hokuto watches him count, re-count the thin pile of thousand-yen bills. He then checks how many coins they have left for change, fills some of the slots with more, counts those too. She says nothing, does nothing as he shuffles from behind the counter to the front of the store, tidying clothes and pillows and jewelry with hesitant urgency.

Lights off. They pull the heavy iron mesh down together, look over the front of the shop to make sure all is in place before they depart. Hokuto follows Subaru's thin figure to the alley behind their tiny store, watches as he takes out a can of tuna and a roll of bread from within the pocket of his tattered gray coat. He takes his time opening the food, emptying its contents in a cracked blue owan she vaguely remembers eating from in the past.

They wait for a minute; him, kneeling on the dirty cement, Hokuto a pink-lined shadow at his back.

Neko-san is apparently not in the vicinity tonight. Subaru picks himself up, does not even pretend to dust the gray ashes from his knees, the palms of his hands. Hokuto envies him this honest nonchalance sometimes. She tuts at him, pats him down in a motherly exasperation. He may not care, but people do, and people stare. Attention – that, Subaru cares about quite a bit.

The walk to the station is long, usually enjoyable. It may not be Shinjuku or Akihabara, but it is still Tokyo and Tokyo is breathtaking at night. Hokuto would talk, point to stores and people, laugh at drunk salary men stumbling out of lively _izakaya_. Subaru, silent as ever, may nonetheless offer a smile or two – at Tokyo or his sister's antics, she was never sure.

Today, the mood is solemn. Nothing she does not expect, all things considered.

Subaru walks slowly, to the left of her and slightly back. His eyes are on the ground, moving up and down with each step of his leather shoes. Shoes, he wears – the trick is getting him to put on clothes that feature a color somewhere in their thread.

How to do this… She inhales the late afternoon, exhales a rush of words.

"You know she worries," Subaru flinches, and Hokuto bites her lip. No, no, wrong start – but too late now. Guilt it is, "We are all she has, Subaru."

He stops, looks up at her. Why can she no longer read his eyes? It used to be so easy, before.

"Alright," he concedes, of course he does. But his head drops, his shoulders slump, and Hokuto feels so unhappy. _If only Grandmother no longer—_

_Awful_, she shakes her head, _what an awful person you have become._

"Okay, then!" cheer, cheer him up, "I will make us some mochi, brew some of your favorite tea while you talk – it will take but minutes, you will see!"

Subaru nods, allows her to pat his hair. They are nearly at the station now, all bright lights and empty halls. Cool glass doors slide shut behind them, a soft female voice announcing the next train to depart the station.

"Ah," Hokuto squints, re-reads the kanji scrolling in red pixels across the electronic board, "We just missed it! Next one is in fifty minutes. Want something?"

Subaru shakes his head, already walking towards the nearly deserted benches at the back of the station. Hokuto looks at the cheery manga shop, the combi next to it, "Alright, poky it is. I am just going to grab a magazine and some coffee – wait for me here, okay?"

She makes sure he has heard her, then bids him a temporary 'bye.' Subaru watches her go, eyes catching on the sparkles decorating her shoes, the earrings bouncing with her steps.

_I am sorry._

His eyes shift to look around him; not too many people, this early in the evening. A young woman, office worker by her clothing, is quietly talking on her phone. An old couple sit, side-by-side, some rows down. Subaru stares at them in turn, seeing yet not.

Light. Subaru blinks; no, just a reflection – something glinting under artificial brightness. Glasses, a watch, or—

—or a heavy silver cross on a long, black chain.

Black boots. Black pants, studded belt, black shirt with some profanity or another scribbled on it in English. The man underneath all the black is pale, and—not a man, a boy. Big eyes, soft cheeks, full lips, and a gaze so sharp, so dark, Subaru's breath catches in his throat.

They stare at each other, emotionless and still. Subaru is fascinated by the image before him, this innocence cloaked in shadows and grimy powder and cold metal. The boy seems just as taken, standing stiff and straight for the first time in his life.

"I have seen you around." The boy's eyes widen slightly, but it is Subaru who is most surprised; that he remembers, that he has spoken to this stranger at all.

A moment later, the bench clangs under the sudden weight of another body; Subaru blinks at the empty air in front of him, reminds himself to follow the boy with his eyes. He is sitting so close to him now; close enough to touch.

And he does. Or rather, the boy does – a soft hand on Subaru's cheek, right under his right eye.

"Yeah, me too," the boy says, a slight accent marring his speech. Okinawa, most likely; the lilt to his voice is tell-tale.

"I am Subaru." So easy. It is never this easy. Subaru wonders at that, nuzzles into the palm cupping his face.

"Kamui," the boy breathes back, "I'm Kamui."

He leans in.

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><p><strong>Vocabulary List<strong>

**neko **- cat

**izakaya **- a type of bar in Japan

**conbi **- A type of convenience store popular in Japan. There are many brands (including 7-11) selling all kinds of things - from snacks to concert tickets - one may find him/herself needing.

**Okinawa **- Southern-most islands of Japan. Okinawans are considered "Japanese" today, but had their own kingdom (Ryukyu) before the Japanese Emperor decided they were actually part of his country. Now, they host most of the American military bases in the nation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Characters belong to CLAMP.**

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><p>The seat rocks gently and Subaru rocks with it, rests a cheek against the window pane. The glass trembles against the wind, rattles his brow to the point of pain, but he pays it no heed. Instead, his eyes follow the transparent reflection of a boy two seats down, messy black hair and crumpled black clothes leaving only his pale face visible on the dark background of the night sky beyond. Subaru watches him and touches his lips, fingers sinking into dry softness.<p>

The kiss had been short, naïve. Kamui's lips, full and pliant, rested atop his mouth once, twice. The third kiss was Subaru's to take and take he did, sealing his own lips at the corner of the boy's small, pink mouth.

They pulled apart after that, smiling and blushing but calm.

"My sister…" Subaru had begun, and Kamui shook his head.

"I know. I'll sit over there," Kamui then took Subaru's hand, lifted it to his lips. He kept those wild, hungry eyes on Subaru's as he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the swell of his palm, the beat of his wrist. Subaru shivered, caressed the boy's slender neck with his fingers.

The exchange lasted no more than a minute. Kamui got up, walked away without a backwards glance. Subaru continued to stare at the space before him, one hand laid reverently across his lap.

Subaru smiles softly; Hokuto had found him like that, red-cheeked and happy. She had stood in front of him, stared, opened her mouth even – but had not say anything. She never does.

"Subaru?"

Subaru's eyes slide away from the glass, from Kamui's reflection, and lock on his sister. She smiles at him, lifts a half-full pack of pocky. A new magazine is splayed open on her lap, pages barely peeking over the bunched skirts of her green summer dress. The pink shawl around her shoulders is particularly fetching, Subaru thinks, and her eyes glow with life.

"Want some?"

He shakes his head, waits. Hokuto nods, puts the candy away with exaggerated care. Maybe that is it. Maybe she did not mean to speak to him at all, but now has to because Subaru is looking at her, so expectant and _pathetic_—

"I do not want you to be sad."

Subaru stills the unconscious drumming of his fingers, permits himself to swallow as the hot lump in his throat gradually disappears. He is quick to shake his head, because he is not, he is not, not when Hokuto is around, and she is not leaving is she?

Some of the panic must have slipped into his expression, because Hokuto is hugging him the next instant; body warm and soft against his own bony back. A flicker of motion to the rights urges him to look and Kamui's concerned eyes meet his for a brief second. Subaru tries to smile at him, for him, but Hokuto chooses that moment to rise – to fill his vision with a face so much like his own his breath catches.

"Silly. I tell you something, you do the opposite," she ruffles his hair, slides back into the seat across from his – she knows he does not care to be touched, to be held for too long. Even if it is her. She tries to forget.

"Now," the magazine disappears in a plastic bag, and Hokuto faces him again with a soft smile, "Let's forget about it, okay? She can call _us_ for once, the old coot."

Subaru has to smile back at that, and Hokuto's grin grows until it dimples her cheeks.

Lips slack once again, Subaru shakes his head.

"No."

Hokuto looks at him, smile slipping, eyes uncertain. Subaru shakes his head again, "I will call her."

"But—" she begins, stops, slumps back into her seat with a sigh, "Yes, that will be for the best."

They stare at each other for a few seconds. Hokuto's lips begin to tremble, tremble, crack, and she suddenly flings her head backwards, shrill laughter bubbling out of her throat.

"You like messing with me, don't you?" she grumbles at Subaru between giggles, pokes him in the arm, the stomach, "Mr. Innocence,"

Subaru gives her one more smile, turns back to his window. He is happy when she is.

It does not hurt that Kamui's reflection is grinning, too.

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><p>Subaru stares at the phone, swallows. His hand constricts against the plastic, slides across it with the aid of nervous sweat. He had said he would. He had, but, but—<p>

"Here," a chyawan is placed on the table in front of him. The aroma of green tea and honey curls into the air and he nods his thanks at Hokuto's half-bent form. She is looking at him, worried and anxious, and he makes up his mind.

The phone rings three times. On the fourth, a deep, warm voice asks "Subaru?" and he almost presses the red button, almost drops the phone.

"Subaru, is that you?" more urgent, this time. Subaru takes a deep breath, answers.

"Konban wa, obaa-san," he does not stutter, not yet at least. A soft sigh, then his grandmother's voice,

"I am happy you have called," _Why did you not do so sooner_ remains unsaid, but obvious in her overly-polite tone, "We have much to discuss."

The plastic audibly cracks in Subaru's grip; Hokuto has gone silent in the kitchen, listening to him, trying to gauge where the conversation is going through his mood alone. She is worried. Grandmother is, too – she is not an unkind woman, she is not doing this to make him unhappy. He must remember that, and he does, but sometimes—

Sometimes it gets too much.

"Let us do so now," he answers her politeness with a more intricate form, rushes ahead before she gets her bearings, "In fact, let us finish with this business, tonight."

Grandmother is silent for a moment, hesitant. "I am glad you are willing to talk about this," but she is obviously not so happy with the way things are going. There is a thin line between respect and sarcasm, and Subaru is openly pushing it with his words, "However, there is not much to discuss. I have already told you what must be done."

"And I have already told you I will not do it," who is talking? Where did this bravery come from?

Anger. That is the dark, bloody warmth heating his thoughts. And he thought himself emotionless; perhaps he stole a bit of humanity from Kamui today. Subaru touches his lips, smiles a crooked, empty grin. He wonders what Grandmother will do, if he tells her of him.

"You do not understand," Grandmother is saying, "How can you? You are but a boy. I should have never let you leave; your place is here, has always been. What are you to do if you do not step up, fulfill your duty?" _What can you do, useless that you are?_

Subaru catches but the end of this, recognizes the unsaid sentiment, and is surprised to find it matters not. Because for the first time, he has an answer, and it is his and his alone.

"I want to go back to school."

Silence. Hokuto drops something in the kitchen, porcelain cracking against the wooden floor.

"What foolishness is this?" finally, finally she raises her tone. He has pushed her to this, and should probably not feel as satisfied as he does, "Who told you to do this? Who put such silly ideas in your head?"

"No one," a lie. Kamui had, unwittingly, when he slipped a flier featuring his high school's Day of Activity in Subaru's pocket as the latter passed by him on his way out the train. Subaru had rushed to their room as soon as they got back, locked the door and pulled out the rumpled sheet of paper. He read every word, memorized the date and hour, straightened it out until the wrinkles disappeared. _Come see me kick some ass_, was scribbled under _Kendo_ in sloppy hiragana and he smiled, _grinned_, traced the lopsided characters with his fingers.

Grandmother was talking, reasoning, maybe pleading – he does not know, for he pays the words no heed, " I want to go to school," he repeats, then adds, almost an afterthought, "I am not sorry."

He presses the red button, lets the phone drop onto the couch. Warm arms envelop him and he becomes aware of Hokuto's presence. How long has she been there? She hugs him tighter, tighter, and he almost asks her to let go, but—

"You are crying," Subaru gasps, feels the moisture soak into his neck, "Did I-?"

Oh, no, he could not make her unhappy. He will not go, he will not see Kamui again – his heart clenches – no, he won't, if it makes her cry. She—

She is looking up, smiling through her tears. She leans in and kisses his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, leaving warmth and tears on his skin.

"You are okay," he hears her whisper, repeat, "You are okay."

Subaru holds her, lets her hold him. Hokuto squeezes tighter, laughs, and promises to make him the cutest uniform ever, school regulations or no. She does not tell him this is the first time in two years she has heard him ask for something, demand something for himself, simply because he wants it. But Subaru feels it, understands the importance of his decision – his decision, _his_ – and is suddenly so scared.

It has to be okay. There is nothing else for him, so it has to be okay.

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><p><strong>Vocabulary list<strong>

**chyawan **- tea/rice bowl

**owan **(from last chapter) - rice bowl

**Day of Activity**- Japanese high schools celebrate school activities (clubs, sports, and the like) on this day. Food and game booths are put up by the students, the entertainment provided by races and tournaments. Families and friends are invited to this event, but anyone who has the time to go (and knows when such a day is held, since it varies with the school) can enjoy the merriment.

**Kendo **- hope you have an idea about the meaning of this, since I really do not want to desecrate the sport by describing it as "fighting with wooden poles."

**hiragana **- one of the three alphabets used in Japanese. Much simpler than kanji (Chinese characters). Has a softer feel to it, and was (still is) associated with women in the early ages.


	4. Chapter 4

**CLAMP's. Nothing new.**

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><p>Subaru is preening.<p>

Hokuto watches as her brother shimmers out of yet another shirt, switches back to a deep-green changshan. Fabrics of all colors spill in a misshapen rainbow on the bathroom floor, trail in the hallway. Subaru fidgets, turns this way and that, deserts the bathroom in favor for the body-length mirror in their bedroom. Hokuto hears rustles, thumps, silence. Several moments pass, and Subaru re-emerges, sporting a new pair of ash-gray trousers, and heads for the bathroom again.

"Subaru?"

A faint "Mhm?" echoes out the open door.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed."

Hokuto snorts, puts her tea cup down, "I can see that. What are you getting dressed _for_?"

Silence. Hokuto waits, waits, opens her mouth—"I am going out."

—and promptly lets it drop in astonishment.

Hokuto gets up, stumbles to the bathroom's open door. Subaru is brushing his hair, carefully for once, eyebrows bunched together in an adorable manner. She stares at him, stares at her own shocked face reflected in the bathroom mirror, shakes her head.

"Where are we going?" she asks at last. Subaru pauses, comb suspended in mid-air, then resumes pulling at his hair, albeit with a bit more enthusiasm. Hokuto blinks.

"Okay," she swallows, continues hesitantly, "Where are _you_ going, Subaru?"

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><p>Subaru feels guilty.<p>

The train rattles him this way and that, people pressing into him with each movement. It is not rush hour, nowhere near it, but there is little space anyhow. Subaru looks at his shoes, at the embroidered hem of his shirt. He wishes he is sixteen again, body small enough to wedge into a corner and remain unseen until the final stop. He wishes Hokuto is here with him, a bright, strong presence to shield him from people's stares.

A young girl stumbles pass him, whispers a timid, "Sumimasen." He looks at her from beneath his lashes; sees the anxious set of her lips, the hunched slope of her shoulders. She is looking at her shoes, too, black school bag clutched in front of her like a shield as she molds into an alcove between two seats. No one looks at her, and she looks at no one.

Subaru straightens, raises his head. No one is looking at him, either. But it is not the same, somehow not the same. Even so, his hand squeezes the metal bar tighter, blood pounds in his ears. The world is so much brighter, so much more open like this. The back of his neck aches, muscles trembling after being strained too long. He wants to look down, re-trace the floor's ridges with his eyes.

The train pulls into the station. People press in as people press out, a sea of dark heads and dark clothes. Subaru is a bright speck among the mass, holds his breath, does not exhale until he has passed the ticket gate. The automated gate swallows his train card, spits it out into his waiting hand.

He hesitates in front of the station; he remembers suddenly that he has never been here alone. But he has a map – carefully drawn and labeled, with tiny blue arrows pointing the way, like footsteps. Subaru traces the first one with a trembling finger, looks up. One block to the right, two down, three to the left – it is not far at all.

He told Hokuto he is going shopping.

He does that, sometimes – spends an hour or two browsing small boutiques and overpriced malls, simply looking. Plush sweaters and bug-eyed fish, pearl-earrings and Hello-Kitty charms – colorful clutter splayed behind thick glass, upon polished shelves. He trails pale fingers over them – wonders whose they will one day be.

Subaru halts in front of wrought iron gates. An unassuming, rectangular building peeks in between the gray metal, beige ghost in the afternoon light. "Azabu High School" trails in neat kanji down the side of a pristine white column; below it, hanging by a thin rope and inked in red, is a hand-made sign reading "Activity Day! Today, from 14:00 to 17:00". As if on cue, a cheer pierces the air, the sound of girls and boys laughing and jostling somewhere nearby.

Subaru does not know what to do.

He has not planned for this; no, he has not even thought about much beyond getting here. His whole world had narrowed down to the lingering warmth of Kamui's lips on his, the colorful flyer tucked surreptitiously in his pocket. He had been invited, and that's all that had mattered; but now, Subaru couldn't help but wonder, _to what_? Where is he to go? What is he to do?

"Follow the path to the back."

Subaru's head jerks up from the dusty ground. Bright black eyes stare back at him from beneath a fringe of bleached-blonde hair, dark-blue sailor outfit fitting snugly against the girl's skin. She smiles at him when he doesn't answer, taking his arm in a gentle grip.

"I will show you."

She takes him around the building, down a slight slope – to the school's open grounds. The noise, the laughter increases with each step, balloons and food booths and fun-fair games bleeding colors into the plaster-white of the surrounding buildings. Subaru looks around, watches students and parents mingle and part, and feels more than a bit overwhelmed.

"Here," a blue-and-white sheet is slid between his fingers; he blinks down at it – a program, "Enjoy!" The girl smiles at him, pats his shoulder, and heads back up the tiny hill. He notices the white sash across her back then, "Student Council" printed in hiragana. Ah.

His hands tremble, just a little, as he brings the program closer to his eyes. He searches down the lines for _Kendo_, almost exhales with relief to find it near the top. _15:00 o'clock_, the program reads, _at theNorth-west corner_. Subaru glances at the simple watch around his wrist; it is 14:37 now.

The North-west corner is a bit difficult to find, given both the crowd and the clutter of other clubs and activities; Subaru ambles around a bit hopelessly until he notices a boy with a _shinai _strapped to his back. He follows after him, making it to the raised wooden podium with but minutes to spare.

Students cheer, jostle all around him as the announcer finishes his short introduction, motioning for the first two _kendoka_ on the stage. They are obviously underclassmen, short and skinny and unsure of their movements; Subaru does not pay them much mind, knowing intuitively that Kamui is not behind either of the red-rimmed _men-gane_.

The match lasts around seven minutes, mostly because neither is experienced enough to knock the other down. Finally, a lucky strike unbalances the taller of the two, and the battle is won without much glory. The next two encounters are a bit more intense, and Subaru finds himself quietly cheering with the red-faced students all around him at particularly-skilled moves.

It is time for the last match; the announcer steps on the podium, but does not need to quiet the crowd – all have suddenly fallen silent. Subaru watches, heart thrumming in his throat, as two black-clad figures mount the three steps and step upon the stage. Muscles bunch under the _keigoki _of the taller man, wild black hair peeking behind the _men_. His hands are sure around the _shinai_, long legs braced against the wooden floor. And the other—

"_Kamui_," Subaru murmurs, thinks he murmurs, yet the smaller figure swirls around and seems to look straight at him. Subaru gasps, thinks about waving, but does not want to appear foolish, for even if Subaru is taller than most Kamui surely cannot see him all the way from there—

And then Kamui – for it is him, the heavy silver cross glinting in the afternoon light – lifts a gloved hand and salutes him, and Subaru cannot help but smile like a fool. "Good luck," he mouths, lifts his own hand in acknowledgement.

Then the fight begins, and there are no more words. Subaru watches, eyes wide with amazement, as the two meet and break for over ten minutes, neither letting the other score more than a single hit before striking himself. They circle each other, and the audiences' gaze follows – strength competing with speed across the tiny stage. Subaru has somehow made his way to the very front, fingers clenched tight at his elbows, teeth biting red lips. This is…

His legs, his hands tingle at the familiar movements – but so much smoother, so much more powerful than he had ever-

"Kamui," he says again, eyes trained at the smaller man. The boy pauses – Subaru's heart clenches, _has he distracted him_? – and suddenly, the match turns on its head.

"_Men-bu, do-bu, kote-bu, men-bu, tsuki-bu_—" the announcer is going hoarse, eyes wide as he tries to follow the blur of motion, the dull _thwack _of impact as Kamui proceeds to completely destroy his opponent, giving the larger body no time to fight back.

Three minutes later, the match is pronounced complete. Silence reigns for another ten seconds, before the whole crowd erupts in awed cheers. Subaru finds himself jostled to the back again, hardly aware of anything other than Kamui's back as the boy retreats behind the stage and out of view.

It is a bit later that Kamui finds him again, uniform jacket slung over one shoulder, tie undone around his neck. He is still a bit red-cheeked as he steps under the oak's shade and sits beside Subaru, so Subaru offers him the milk tea he had stopped to get from a booth near the stage.

"Thanks," Kamui grins, uncaps the bottle. Subaru traces the sweat trailing down the younger man's brow with his eyes, murmurs a flushed _douitashimasite_.

It is silent for a few seconds; Kamui takes another drink, leans against the tree's trunk so his shoulder rests against Subaru's. "Thank you for coming," he finally says, and Subaru can hear the hesitant happiness in his voice. It makes the warmth in his chest blossom a bit more, and he smiles at his hands, unable to look at the other's face least he does something embarrassing. Like kiss him again.

"You were amazing," he says instead, "I have never seen anything like it." Like you.

Kamui shrugs, but a peek at his face reveals a pleased smile, "I better be. Have been training since I could walk."

Another, warmer silence envelops them; Kamui leans even closer to Subaru, dark head resting against the brilliant green of the other's changshan. Subaru lets him, smiling at the fingers he suddenly finds intertwined with his own.

"I want to start school again."

Kamui mms in agreement, nuzzling closer. "Good. You should come here. Then I can kiss you any time I want."

Subaru flushes, but does not respond to the gentle teasing; it is not a bad idea, after all.

"Do you think they will take me?"

Kamui lifts his head so he can look at Subaru's face, "You are serious," Subaru nods, and Kamui lays his head back down, "Of course they will."

"I am eighteen," Subaru murmurs.

"So?"

"I dropped out when I was sixteen."

Kamui hums in reply, "That's hot."

Subaru stifles a laugh, nudges the smaller man with an elbow, "No, it isn't; I will be in your class, even though I am two years your senior. People will make fun of me."

"They won't," Kamui yawns into his shoulder, fingers trailing over Subaru's palm, "I won't let them."

Subaru sighs, lets his fingers play with the soft hair tickling his cheeks, "I don't need a protector."

Kamui remains silent, but squeezes Subaru's fingers tighter in disagreement. Subaru decides to let the subject drop.

It is a bit later, after a shared dish of gyoza and sushi, that Kamui catches his fingers in a gentle grip and tugs him behind the school, in the deserted parking lot. Subaru blushes as Kamui guides them behind a dark-blue minivan, gasps when warm lips trail sticky kisses up his jaw.

"I like you," Kamui breathes, black eyes holding Subaru's gaze prisoner, "I like you a lot."

Subaru wants to smile, wants to say _me too_, _I like you a lot as well_, but cannot do much but moan as Kamui's lips mesh with his, soft and pliant.

They stay like that, kissing and touching, Kamui half-straddling Subaru's lap. They would have likely remained so for much longer, had a shadow not suddenly fallen over their kneeling forms.

"I am sorry to disturb you," a smooth voice breaks through the lazy warmth that had surrounded them, urging both to spring apart as if scalded, "But one of you has completely disregarded curfew yet again." Subaru hears a flat smile in the man's voice, "Do you enjoy being punished that much, Kamui-kun?"

* * *

><p><strong>Vocabulary List<br>**_Changshan_ - Chinese-style male shirt  
><em>Kendoka<em> - someone who practices the art of Kendo  
><em>Shinai<em> - Kendo sword; composed of three bamboo strips held together by strings of rope  
><em>Men-gane<em> - the part of a Kendo helmet (_men_) which shields the face  
><em>keigoki <em>- the shoulder-and-upper-arm parts of the Kendo uniform  
><em>Men-bu, do-bu, kote-bu, tsuki-bu<em> - names of specific strikes (moves) in Kendo  
><em>gyoza<em> - fried dumplings (yum)  
><em>sumimasen<em> and _douitashimasite_ - "I am sorry" and "you are welcome"


	5. Chapter 5

Please, wait for updates from here on (can I mention how long it took me to upload these chapters from Microsoft Word? Ridiculous, given they were already written. Don't get FF anymore...)

**All belongs to CLAMP.**

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><p>This is the most awkward Subaru has felt in his entire life.<p>

The seat-belt bites into his collarbone, the jut of his hip. His hands, curled into a single fist in his lap, are sweaty and numb, fine shivers racking the flesh: motion in immobility, anxious energy trapped under his skin. If this goes on for much longer, he may just scream.

Kamui is quiet in the backseat; a dark, brooding presence at Subaru's back. He thinks he hears him mutter something from time to time, angry and a bit bitter. At every turn, Subaru feels his own body shake as Kamui's booted foot slams into the back of the driver's seat – by accident, of course.

The silver minivan glides to a stop in front of a burgundy apartment building. Subaru does not recognize it or the address printed on a nearby coffee shop. His stomach drops; he should have said no when Kamui's uncle ushered them into his car. Of course, seeing how his first meeting with the man had gone, Subaru did not believe he really would have had a choice in the matter.

"Go ahead, Kamui-kun." The man's voice, for all of its pleasantness, sounds ominous after the prolonged silence. Kamui is apparently unwilling to be outdone in the intimidation department; he leans forward, hair brushing against Subaru's cheek as he regards the other man with a look that makes Subaru blush uncomfortably and shift his gaze.

"No."

"You do not have to worry about your friend," still agreeably polite, the older man's tone nonetheless sends shivers down Subaru's back, "I will make sure he makes it home."

"Like hell you will!" Subaru flinches, Kamui's angry voice too close for comfort, "I ain't getting out of this damn car until—"

"Kamui-kun."

Subaru grips his hands tighter, swallows. A second, ten, pass.

Finally, Kamui lets out a disgusted snort and gets out of the car, making sure to slam the door closed. Subaru turns so he is facing the driver seat without actually looking at its occupant, attempts a shaky smile.

"T-thank you for the ride—"

Before Subaru can get to the _leaving_ part, his door is wrenched open and a hand fists his shirt close to his throat. The fabric stretches uncomfortably against his neck and Subaru is forced forward and – to his utter mortification – onto Kamui's waiting mouth. Their teeth clash, lips mesh uncomfortably. Subaru can barely breathe, think over the pounding of blood behind his eyes, the tip of his tongue. Kamui's eyes, dark and agitated, consume him.

But he does not forget the man next to him – can feel his amused gaze as if it is a physical touch. Subaru is stiff, red with embarrassment and when Kamui finally lets him go he can do no more than melt into the seat, nod at Kamui's soft goodbye, and pretend to not see the hateful glare Kamui aims at his uncle over Subaru's shoulder.

After several long seconds the car rumbles to a sleepy start, easing back into the afternoon traffic. Houses and people begin to blur beyond the window, fading into a single distorted picture. The blush staining Subaru's face is slow to disappear. He still won't look at the other man.

"How long have you known my nephew?"

There, it has started. Subaru clenches his teeth, his fingers, and wills himself to lie.

"Several weeks," they have seen each other for several weeks, albeit as but strangers traveling on the same train. The man hums, and Subaru swallows, "B-but really three days."

A quiet laugh unconsciously prompts Subaru to glance at the older man; a sharp, dark profile underlined by a crooked smile has him unable to look away.

"Where do you live?" Subaru tells him, down to the postal code, and blushes as the man lets out another chuckle. Everything he does seems to amuse him, Subaru thinks despondently and feels like a child.

Another ten minutes, and the streets begin gaining familiarity. The knot of tension in his stomach finally begins to unravel, and Subaru feels ridiculously happy when he recognizes the tiny post office they pass as the building at the corner of their block.

"There," Subaru points at an aged, grayish apartment complex, "We live over there."

Kamui's uncle nods and the car swerves around the building, slips into an underground parking lot Subaru was not even aware existed. No matter; as soon as the automobile pulls to a stop, he is pulling at the seat-belt and reaching for the door, words of gratitude spilling with no real thought out of his mouth.

A hand grabs his elbow just as his left foot touches the ground, and Subaru freezes half-in, half-out of the car.

"Would you mind if I intrude on you for a couple of minutes?" the man's smile is more sharp than pleasant, "I am afraid there are several things we must talk about."

* * *

><p>Subaru had been wrong; <em>this<em> is the most awkward he has felt in his entire life.

The elevator, like everything else in the complex, is woefully small. The fact that Kamui's uncle is unnaturally tall – taller than Subaru, and he is already pushing the limit where Japanese men are concerned – and broad-shouldered does not help matters at all. There is simply nowhere to look but at him; Subaru puts all of his concentration in keeping his eyes to the man's chest and no higher. Ogling what he could see of the man's face will not help his cause at all. Whatever said cause is.

"Who do you live with?"

Subaru throws the man a startled gaze, drops his eyes as soon as he sees them reflected in the dark plastic of the man's sunglasses.

"I—what?"

The man chuckles – _again_, Subaru fumes – "In the car, you said: 'that is where _we_ live;' I was simply curious."

"Ah," Subaru shifts, leans against the elevator wall, "My twin sister."

The quiet ding of the elevator counting upwards fills the silence for a while; five, six – the elevator halts to a stop on the seventh floor, and Subaru turns eagerly towards the metal doors.

"It just occurred to me," they are walking down the dusky corridor, Subaru leading. The older man, dressed in pristine black down to the driving gloves stretched over his large hands, feels like a personified shadow at his back, "That I do not know your name."

Subaru stops in front of their door, rummages in his pocket for the key, "Sumeragi Subaru," the part of him that still carries the sting of Grandmother's lessons winces, and Subaru turns to face the older man, bowing his head, "Please take care of me."

The man waits until Subaru looks up, takes Subaru's hand in a Western handshake. "Sakurazuka Seishirou," he smiles and Subaru cannot will his eyes to the ground, stares in perplexed wonder at the man's face, "Pleased to meet you, Subaru-kun."

The apartment is dark when Subaru finally gets his hands stable enough to open the door. There is no buzz from a TV turned on mute, no distracted humming drifting from the kitchen. Subaru feels Hokuto's absence like a chill – a coldness that transforms into something close to horror once he realizes he must entertain Sakurazuka on his own. He hangs his and his guest's coats on the wooden stand by the door as if in a dream, almost forgetting to take off his shoes before he steps into the apartment proper. Sakurazuka smirks at the bunny-eared house slippers, and Subaru feels his cheeks burn.

"Please, make yourself at home," he never has guests. The words are foreign in his mouth and he is pretty sure he motioned to the potted plant Hokuto constantly forgets to water when he offered the older man a seat. No matter; Sakurazuka smiles in that sharp, enigmatic way of his and makes no move to sit.

"Umm," Subaru fiddles with his hands, standing in the little alcove that separates the living area from the kitchen indecisively, "Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea, if it is not too much trouble," the man smiles again and, to Subaru's dismay, follows him into the kitchen, "I thought we could talk here as well as anywhere," he says to Subaru's inquisitive (startled) look.

"Alright," it is not, but what can he do? Subaru tries not to shake too much as he fills a pink-spotted pot with water. A furtive glance tells him Sakurazuka is leaning against the counter across the sink, four steps away in all; how, how did he get in this mess?

"How old are you, Subaru-kun?"

Subaru closes his eyes briefly, feels like banging his head against the glass cabinets, "Eighteen. Nineteen in a month," he focuses on the jars Hokuto keeps on the shelf above the oven, stubbornly refusing to think too much about where the man's questions might lead, "Green, black, or ginseng?"

"Black," Subaru wants to roll his eyes, but is a bit too anxious to find humor in the man's obsession with the color, "And where do you study, Subaru-kun?"

The teapot's whistle goes off in a shrill stream of noise and Subaru tends to it gratefully for several minutes. The chyawan are too small and he splashes boiling water on his hands twice before he fills both cups, shoulders stiff enough to break at a careless touch. He wants to say something, but his mind is empty, an uncomfortably familiar silence beginning to echo in his ears. There is nothing, and why did he try, why did he think he could, when he knew very well he had nothing, _was_–

A broad hand settles on his back, another cautiously wrapping around his chest. "Breathe," he hears and feels warmth pool into his empty body, seeming to flow from Sakurazuka's hands. He listens: opens his mouth wide and gulps air into his aching lungs, blinks the shelves back into focus. The room swirls gently and that wonderful warmth envelops him fully; between one breath and the next strong arms are lowering him onto the green-red couch, and Subaru feels very small and stupidly grateful.

Sakurazuka disappears into the kitchen, emerging with the two chyawan balanced on one of Hokuto's Hello Kitty serving trays. The picture of the dark-clothed man carrying the pink abomination makes Subaru smile, which prompts an answering curve of Sakurazuka's mouth.

"Here," the man kneels beside Subaru's prone form, wraps Subaru's fingers around one of the cups, "Drink slowly."

Subaru nods, yet makes no move to drink as Sakurazuka seats himself on the cream settee besides the couch. This, he can't—

"I dropped out," he blurts out, half-horrified, half-relieved to hear the words out loud. Sakurazuka says nothing, so he continues, "When I was sixteen. Now, I- I help my sister run a small boutique in Shinjuku. She is a designer, and the apartment is hers too—" because it is, whatever Hokuto says; he is grown up enough to understand that much, and why is Sakurazuka not saying anything? Rage, forbid him from seeing Kamui, _anything_ but look at him like this, like there is something to see, someone worthy of notice—

A quiet click; porcelain against glass as Sakurazuka places his cup, untouched, on the glass table in front of the couch. Another, and Subaru watches in muted awe as the dark sunglasses slip from the man's face, long eyelashes parting to reveal two dark, dark blue eyes.

Blue.

Subaru blinks, but the picture remains the same. Sakurazuka continues to study him, something powerful in his gaze, and Subaru flushes for reasons that have nothing to do with embarrassment.

"You forfeited your future," low and intense, the words build to a crescendo in Subaru's ears, "That is what you _did_, your past." The man leans forward, looms – sudden and all-consuming – above Subaru's body, "Now, tell me what future you have chosen to seek, Subaru-kun."

Subaru swallows heavily, lips parched and burning, eyes impossibly wide – as if trying to encompass the entirety of the older man in their depths. They are close enough for Subaru to inhale the other's breath, feel the warmth of his body. His chest, his fingers hurt, emotion swirling dark and terrible underneath his skin.

And then Sakurazuka pushes up and away, breaking the moment and leaving cold emptiness behind. A last, considering gaze and those foreign eyes are once again covered by inky darkness.

"When we meet again, Subaru-kun." A smile, a wave.

The click of the door sliding shut echoes in Subaru's ears long after the man is gone.

* * *

><p><strong>Vocabulary<strong>

_Cultural tidbits:_ you drive on the left in Japan, hence Subaru exiting the car with his left foot first (small detail, but still).

Greeting someone (for the first time) in Japanese: (name) to moushimasu. Yorosiku onegai shimasu (quite polite form). First bit: name. Second bit: something along the lines of "please take care of me" or, as it is often translated, "nice to meet you."

_chyawan _– tea cup


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Have been writing this every day before work for two weeks. Just copied it from my notebook, so I apologize for any mistakes - will fix them asap.

**All is owned by CLAMP.**

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><p>Two weeks pass. Subaru does not contact Kamui again and the younger man's importance in Subaru's life gradually begins to fade. It is not a conscious decision on Subaru's part, but the capriciousness of a heart previously untouched by desire and want: He still cares for Kamui, finds him beautiful and engaging, but not in a fashion that would lead to romance and love.<p>

It is easy to ignore the other's existence; Hokuto is mad at him still for disappearing that one day, for scaring her into roaming the streets in search of him. Between placating her by taking care of the house and helping run her boutique, he hardly finds time to think about soft black eyes and yielding lips.

Yet he is not entirely victorious: at night, heavy dreams tease him with warm hands, helpless want encased in a gaze of the blackest blue. Subaru wakes up flushed with arousal and guilt; he has taken to sleeping on a futon by their bed, pleading the awful summer heat as motivation. He does not think Hokuto suspects, but his own understanding is thorough enough to make him feel faint at the very idea of seeing Kamui again. What is he to say to the younger man? How is he to look at him, to kiss him, without wishing he were someone else?

It is all too sudden, too heartbreaking, and Subaru responds as he always has in the face of confusion: he hides. His life picks up the familiar rhythm of work, home, repeat, and he thinks no more. Surely if enough time passes the dreams and the warmth they bring will cease, too. Maybe he will even convince himself he is happy.

But people are not dolls to be outgrown – things one can stuff at the bottom of a drawer, forever exile from one's presence. Subaru, having lived his whole life in a stiflingly familiar network of few relatives and even fewer friends, has somehow forgotten.

That is and why he is caught so woefully unprepared when his dream solidifies in front of his very eyes one Tuesday afternoon.

"Hello, Subaru-kun."

The phantom smiles, reaches a hand to clasp Subaru's shoulder. The warm touch sends Subaru's mind reeling into a wall of sensation, has the younger man blinking in stupefied surprise. Unconsciously, his body tries to distance itself from this man, this predator, and Subaru realizes that he is not hallucinating the same moment his chair tips backwards under his own weight. The only anchor he finds is in Sakurazuka – in the man's strong grip and cold, amused eyes studying him from behind a cloak of glassy darkness. Gently, the larger man sets the chair down, his hands lingering where Subaru's clench the seat. The moment stretches longer than it should, longer than infinity, and Subaru is both disappointed and relieved when the man's body moves a courteous step away.

Sakurazuka smiles that small, crooked grin of his and Subaru blushes, blurts out, "What are you doing here?" in a most accusatory manner. A rumbling chuckle heats his cheeks, the tips of his ears.

"Forgive me; I was under the impression all were welcome."

Subaru wishes fainting is an option. Dozens of glassy trinkets, shimmery skirts and colorful headbands glitter under the afternoon sun, staining the boutique's walls in rainbow hues. It is beyond pretty; Hokuto's passion for life spills into her designs, is woven into the thread of every piece of clothing she creates. Surrounded as he is with all of this beauty daily, even Subaru cannot resist staring, trailing a stray finger over gold-dusted zippers. Yet Sakurazuka's attention remains focused upon him, unwavering and all-encompassing; Subaru cannot understand the cause of it, leaving him fidgeting in frustrated confusion.

"I am sorry," he mumbles to his shoes for lack of anything to say.

"Would you join me for ice-cream?" Sakurazuka answers and Subaru wonders down exactly which rabbit hole he has fallen.

"I—," he stops, looks at Sakurazuka's composed face; the man is serious, "I am working?"

"It is pass lunch; are you not due for a break?" he is not about to leave the issue be, Subaru will wager. Even so he tries to shake his head, to explain that he does not take lunch breaks. It is not a lie; he usually brings a bento, or Hokuto picks up something for him when she goes out – which is probably where she is now, Subaru realizes belatedly. He has not been paying much attention to his surroundings these past few weeks. He gets about as far as opening his mouth when a surprised voice silences him.

"Sei-chan?"

It is an amazing thing, the suddenness and totality with which Sakurazuka _changes_. The man who intimidates, intrigues Subaru with his very presence seems to dwindle out of focus, to disappear. In his stead emerges someone unfamiliar: a kind man wearing a warm smile and a slightly-bemused look. It is no mask or mere pretension – the wholeness of this transformation speaks of an act long-practiced, shaped to an unnerving perfection.

So perfect, in fact, that Subaru wonders which of the two is the costume and which the actor.

Hokuto does not seem to notice, to find something strange with the man smiling at her from behind dark glasses. She squeals, rushes to grab his arm and drag him towards Subaru's unmoving form.

"Subaru! Subaru! This is the man I was talking about – the man from the plane! Isn't it a small world?"

_Small isn't the word_, Subaru thinks, tries to smile. How is he to explain this – whatever it is –to his sister? "I—"

"Good to finally meet you, Sumeragi-san," Sakurazuka cuts him off with a smile, "Your sister has told me quite a bit about you."

"All lies, I promise," Hokuto winks at her brother, releases the stranger in Sakurazuka's skin. "What brings you to our humble store?"

"Am I not allowed to visit a friend? I must admit, I had a bit of trouble finding the address, or I would have not been so long in keeping my promise." He produces one of Hokuto's sunflower-shaped business cards from within his pocket with unneeded flourish.

"Tokyo is a bit of a mess in comparison with Chicago," Hokuto accepts his excuse readily, the grin never falling from her face. Subaru concentrates on her crinkled eyes, the dimples about her lips – he simply cannot stand to look at Sakurazuka, "Of course you could still buy something – I am sure you'd look smashing in a blue corset."

Sakurazuka laughs – an airy, careless sound. Subaru drops his eyes and glares at his shoes, "Do you try to put all of your male friends in dresses?"

"Nah, just you," Hokuto giggles, "And Subaru."

A sudden calm grips Subaru's senses. This is not to be born, this awful, foolish banter. "Excuse me," he bites out, pushes off the register and heads towards the back entrance. He hears voices call after him, ignores them.

The stifling heat that greets him into Tokyo's arms does not provide respite to his agitated mind. He leans against TokyoIro's wall, lets the rough texture scrape through his thin shirt. The skin beneath the cotton will soon be a rude, angry red; he secretly delights in the pain, lets it lure his mind into blissful nothing.

A sudden weight, the warmth of a live body presses against his left foot. Subaru opens one eye and regards Neko-san with amusement.

"How do you stand the heat, with all that fur?"

Neko-san rumbles stoically and presses closer, seeking attention. Subaru kneels to indulge the dark-gray feline, gently patting its sides, the butting head. Neko-san is a street cat – one of the few still roaming Tokyo freely. Subaru wishes he could afford to take him home, yet does not desire the added responsibility a live creature brings. Neko-san is similarly undecided: at times he would follow after Subaru, mewing and rubbing against his boots in adoration until Hokuto takes notice and shoos the nosy feline out of the store. Yet he is far from a regular presence, and accepts affection only at his terms: the one and only time Subaru had approached Neko-san first ended with a hissing ball of fur and a shredded shirt.

But Neko-san is in an agreeable mood today, so Subaru sits on the backsteps and gathers him into his lap. The skies are blue, visible in peeks and squares among tall buildings and dry trees. Subaru regards them as if in a dream, Neko-san idly rumbling onto his stomach.

Subaru wakes to shaking. He thinks it an earthquake for a moment, relaxes when Hokuto's less-than-amused face comes into focus.

"You fell asleep outside again," she accuses, helps him get up and dust his gray coat. Subaru yawns; Neko-san is long gone, and the sun's position indicates at least a few hours have passed. He shrugs and absent-mindedly rubs his burning lips; has he bitten at them in his sleep?

"I give you some alone time to figure out all the random angst going on in that head of yours and what do you do?" Hokuto turns off the lights as they re-enter the store. The place is neat, ready for closing – they close early sometimes, on Tuesdays. Subaru closes and locks the main door, helps Hokuto pull down the protective mesh. He suddenly wonders what happened with Sakurazuka – an unpleasant curiosity he chooses to ignore.

They walk in silence, each lost to a different world. Like inverted image of the same photograph, they wander down one path – a girl, her eyes and clothes bright with the sun's light; a forlorn boy, head bowed towards the warm earth in thought.

The train station is bustling today – students and tourists crowding plastic chairs and stone aisles. Subaru is so busy looking for a particular black-haired teenager he does not notice when Hokuto elbows their way to the ticket booth.

"Your card, Subaru," she prompts. Subaru pats down his pockets distractedly, then with more urgency when he notices a line of people behind him. On the second try, his fingers brush against the smooth surface of his JR card; he gratefully feeds it to the machine and enters the train-platform. Hokuto is already walking towards their stop and Subaru makes to follow her when a hand catches his elbow. Subaru turns, his heart in his throat; it is not Kamui, but a young girl in a sailor suit, offering him a square piece of paper.

"You dropped this."

Subaru takes the paper, thanks her belatedly. The girl passes him; Subaru's gaze passes over her to locate his sister in the mess of people, then looks down at the object resting on his palm.

It is a meishi, a business card. The paper is of good quality: deep charcoal color, the letters raised gold. Subaru trails fingers over the Western print, flips it to the other side in search of Japanese.

"Subaru?" Hokuto's voice echoes over the din and bustle of strangers, "Subaru, the train is here!"

He has no memory of putting the card away, of making his way to his sister and into the train. Their car is full and there is no space for conversation with strangers pressing against them from all sides. Hokuto keeps her hand in his – a childhood habit of calming each other down. Subaru notices none of this; his mind is focused on a card bearing the name Seishirou Sakurazuka and a half-dreamed kiss.

* * *

><p>Bento – home-made Japanese lunch; usually includes rice-balls (onigiri), fish, and vegetables<p>

Meishi – business card; it is common to offer such as means of introducing yourself (and your position/occupation) in Japan.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes**: This is much longer than I anticipated when I began writing. Some graphic content. I apologize for any mistakes, will fix them when I have the time to look this over. Xposted to _seiXsub_.

**All belongs to CLAMP.**

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><p>He does not call.<p>

Three days pass. Subaru does not look at the _meishi_, does not throw it away – tries to forget, really, for like Kamui and his own want it is best if it does not exist. He pushes the white-gray jacket of that day to the back of their wardrobe, firmly closes the door to temptation. If allowed, time will eat away at Sakurazuka's name, the dark paper on which it is printed, and leave but dust to litter a forgotten coat's pocket. Subaru finds reassurance in this, thinks of how silly it will all seem in a few months, a year.

The dreams remain.

"Subaru."

Subaru jerks upright, blinks. Hokuto is on the settee beside him, the midday sun painting her cheeks in golden-creams. For a second, he fancies her a spirit, is transported to a different house painted in the same soft, golden light. _Thin paper-doors collect shadows like spider webs, outline the silhouettes of two children. A younger Hokuto regards him there, chubbier cheeks and genderless body. Yet her eyes shine with the same light, hold the same darkness of maturity beyond a child's grasp._

The moment passes. Subaru, disquieted by the detail of this sudden memory, does not hear much of Hokuto's careful words. Until, at least, a certain name passes her lips.

"Monou?"

Hokuto narrows her eyes at him, none too pleased at being interrupted mid-sentence. But Subaru is honestly and adorably confused, so she sighs and backtracks a little.

"Yes, Subaru-kun. Kanoe Monou. The co-owner of Shibuya 109?"

"The owner of…" Subaru trails off, the image of Shibuya's most famous shopping plaza rising in his mind like a dragon from the tales of yore. Ten stories encased in glass and cement, Shibuya 109 is the heart of Japan's fashion scene. Trends are created and exploited there, ridiculous fashions like Ganguro and Kogal set loose on a nation full of teenagers with too much money and too little self-confidence. It is no a mere mall but a legend, and Subaru finally detects the barely-concealed excitement glowing in his sister's eyes.

"What," he stops, smiles at her, "What of her?"

"Oh, nothing much. I am invited to her home for dinner this Saturday." Subaru stares, mouth agape, and Hokuto finally cracks, "To dinner! At her house! Can you imagine? Oh, Subaru, this could be it!" she grins so hard his own lips pull up, bounces in her seat like a child. Subaru's smile widens and he laughs, hugs his sister.

"I am so happy for you," he murmurs in her hair, "You deserve it."

"Yeah, well." Hokuto lingers in her brother's arms, sharing her happiness and warmth with her twin. When he pulls away she brushes a hand through his hair, leans to kiss his cheek:

"So, what are you going to wear?"

Subaru's expression morphs into a mix of confusion and dread. "Wear when?" he asks carefully, and Hokuto hides a smile.

"To the dinner, silly! You were not going to make me go all alone, were you?" she chides.

"I, but—I wasn't even invited!" Subaru settles on, a bit of desperation creeping in his voice. He hates events. Any and all of them.

"Don't worry, Sei-chan is sure she won't mind. Plus I need someone to show off my boy-stuff on," Hokuto waves him off, not aware of the sudden intensity in her brother's attention.

"What does Sakurazuka-san have to do with this?" he has to ask, even if he would much rather ignore it all.

"He knows Monou-san from somewhere," Hokuto is not exactly sure herself. She is willing to ignore such small mysteries in favor of this opportunity, however, "Apparently, she noticed my work and sent this."

Hokuto produces an elegant, cream-colored meishi. _Monoe Kanoe, Shibuya Co._ it reads. "Look," Hokuto flips the card. Subaru reads the kanji scrawled on its back: _"You have impressed me. It will be a pleasure to meet someone as talented as you."_

"Sei-chan brought it over, since he was planning to visit me anyway," Hokuto is saying as if it all makes perfect sense. Subaru doubts it; not Monou-san's interest – that is long overdue. No, he finds Sakurazuka's motives difficult to understand.

"Subaru?"

Hokuto's voice is pleading. He cannot deny her his, not when her only desire is to share whatever joy she can with him. "No hats," he says and Hokuto squeals, hugs him tight.

"Okay! Don't worry, you will look awesome – oh, there is no time! I have to get ready, and what am _I_ going to wear?"

Subaru watches his sister celebrate in one breath and panic in the other with open amusement. He sighs when their bedroom door slams shut behind the excited woman, already despising whatever gender-confused outfit he will be forced to don in the name of fashion.

Thursday and Friday pass in a flurry of tailor-pins, sewing, and Subaru's most reluctant posing as a mannequin. Saturday is upon them almost before they know it, before they are ready. Neither gets much sleep the night before, but everything is finished on time. Subaru does not even hate his clothes that much: dark pants of a soft material stretch over his legs, a hint of grayish sparkle in their thread. The top, a cross between a kimono and a seventeenth century French garb, is of a vibrant green color, the seam elaborately embroidered in gold. The pants are a bit too tight and the shirt so low-cut the slightest bend of his upper body will allow anyone in the vicinity view of his navel, but he does not complain. This is pretty tame, given the creator.

Hokuto must be going for fashionably elegant (rather than her usual borderline-insane), for he is sure this is the most normal he has seen her looking in quite some time. A loose blouse of a most vibrant yellow color lies like a puffy cloud over her chest, designed so the gentle slope of her shoulders remains visible. The fabric bunches in layers over the elastic-fitted waistline, putting Subaru in mind of heavy Victorian dresses. A simple, ash-gray pencil skirt completes the outfit; Subaru smiles when he notices the transparent, sunset-purple trim all about the skirt's hem. Hokuto does not do simple.

"The taxi is here," he says at quarter to five. He is anxious to leave; Hokuto has re-arranged her sketchbook about seven times now and he would really like to get this over with.

"Already?" Hokuto asks, pushes a heavy binder into her twin's hands, "Alright, you go down – I will be there in a few."

Subaru goes. Hokuto does not tardy too much; she bounces in the car behind him, closes the door with a snap and tells the driver the address. The car rumbles, cuts into the evening traffic, and Subaru loses himself in the world speeding by the tiny window.

The taxi takes them on a winding road through and out of Tokyo. Subaru watches as Tokyo Tower fades in the distance, wonders at the cold beauty of the city at night: Glass and cement, powered by the blood of thirty million tiny lives. He feels it pointless sometimes – most times, really. It is not work, the act of labor he questions, but the motivation behind it; so what if he does nothing memorable in his life, if his name fades into dust at his funeral pyre with the flesh from his bones? As long as he has led a happy life he will be content.

But happiness is elusive. There must be something wrong with him, he thinks – there is no other reason for the perpetual gloom all is tinted in his eyes. He sees people as shadows, searches for a hidden agenda behind every word; exists, toils, only because he must. Hokuto is the only bright presence in his life and he selfishly dreads the day when she, too, will be out of his reach.

The car slows, stops. Subaru blinks uncomfortable thoughts away and opens the door.

It is quiet here, and much darker than in the city. All around trees rustle, cicadas sing their haunting song. The soft glow of the moon, the dozen or so lanterns lighting a near-by shrine make the place appear secluded – otherworldly, almost. The taxi pulls out onto what Subaru realizes is a dirt-road, rumbles its way down the hill and out of view.

"Where is the house?" he asks. Hokuto grins and points to the shrine.

"That's the address," she reaches for him, "Come on."

Subaru takes the offered hand, an unpleasant knot of unease tightening about his heart. He has never visited this particular _jinja_, yet feels as if he knows it, has trailed his fingers over each stone in the wide garden. Entering through the raised gates feels like passing through time, stepping back into a childhood he has almost convinced himself did not exist: He remembers the games he played with Hokuto, remembers a time people could not tell them apart – so a like were they in manner and mischief. The world was colorful then and its people – kind.

He had not lost those innocent times gradually; years revealing the rotten insides of what had appeared a shiny apple. No, awareness was sudden and complete: a black hole opening in the pit of his stomach to swallow all in sight and spit it back tainted, broken.

They think he does not remember it, that moment. Perhaps he does not, but the knowledge is there – a phantom pain hidden beneath thick scar tissue. He scratches and tears at it at times, hopes to make it bleed anew. But the memory is buried too deep and his courage runs out before he remembers much: a dry summer, he is laying on a wooden floor, and suddenly his body goes numb—

"Subaru?"

They are at the door. Subaru blinks the elaborate woodwork into focus, smiles shakily. "I am fine," he assures before anything can be asked. Hokuto studies him for a long moment, then she nods and knocks, the heavy metal handle crackling against the wood like lightning.

A minute or so passes before they hear footsteps, the unmistakable clicking of heels. The door is pulled open a moment later and Hokuto almost gasps to find herself face-to-face with Kanoe Monou herself.

The greetings are long and overly polite on both ends. Subaru, no longer interested in such social rituals, leaves the word-play to Hokuto. He bows where he should, murmurs a humble _kochirakoso_, but otherwise remains silent. Monou is pretty in a rather unconventional way. Subaru wonders if there is something foreign in her; the sloping nose, ample curves not quite fitting on a Japanese woman. They do, however, make her look impressive in a deep-red kimono, altered so it falls over her body like a dress. Black satin lines the hems, weaves into flowers and frost-studded birds along the dress' sleeves and sides. She turns, perhaps to lead them into the house, and Subaru's eyes widen to find a grass-green shape woven around her neck. He reaches, fingers ghosting over scaly skin.

"Subaru!"

Hokuto's hand grasps his elbow, pulls him a step back. He blinks; there is nothing there. Monou turns, an elegant brow arched, and Hokuto smiles,

"Excuse us. We have not visited a shrine in a while," she motions downwards, to their shoes. Monou stretches her lips in a condescending smile.

"Leave them on. This is no longer a house of worship."

She click-clacks ahead. Hokuto blinks, looks at her brother. After a moment of indecision they follow after, steps hesitant.

The hallway walls are bare, spotted with the shadows of the pictures and paintings they previously bore. A quiet melancholy pervades the place: the absence of what ought to be there more noticeable than its presence would have been.

Monou is waiting for them, already seated at a high-table elaborately decorated with candles and colorful dishes. This, too, is out of place; Subaru thinks he can almost see the outlines of tatami mats on the polished hard-wood floor. Their launches into a long and rather empty explanation regarding the house decor as soon as they are seated – she has moved in this building recently and is in the middle of redecorating, apparently. Subaru pretends to listen, tastes some of the offered dishes.

The conversation turns and twists, settling on the actual reason for the dinner only when the meal is by all signs over. "Let us move to the living area," Monou suggests, leads them into what must have once been a worship hall. Stripped from all that had made it sacred, it now hosts a lavish collection of leather couches, crystal tables, a flat-screen TV mounted on one wall. Subaru wonders if he has ever seen anything as ugly in his life.

Monou sits on one of the divans and motions for Hokuto to join her. "Let me see what you have," she says and Subaru takes his cue, offers the thick binder containing Hokuto's best designs.

For all of her apparent pretentiousness, Kanoe Monou is obviously good at what she does. She inspects every page, comments on details Subaru has not even noticed – and he has worn some of the featured designs. Her tone remains neutral, her manner businesslike and detached; the care with which she examines each drawing speaks volumes nonetheless.

Subaru is happy, yet cannot shake a nagging thread of suspicion. For there is surprise mixed with the excitement shining in Monou's eyes, a sudden warmth to her previously barely-civil tone. She is impressed, yes, but _now_, and her manner is very much that of seeing something for the first time.

"Excuse me," Subaru smiles awkwardly, "The bathroom…?"

Monou points him down a corridor, not pausing in her discussion of a pink-laced purse. Hokuto meets his eyes briefly and he smiles, mouths _yokatta_. She grins, her attention shifting back to Monou. Subaru takes his leave.

The rest of the house is much the same: empty hallways and misplaced furniture, devoid of all feeling and significance. The rooms Subaru peeks in on his way were once guest halls, libraries, prayer rooms – all bare now, or otherwise modernized to an unseemly degree. He wonders why it bothers him so, why he sees nothing but misery etched in the weathered wood.

The bathroom is the last door to his right; the door across it must lead outside and the outdoor toilet, if all remains as it should. Subaru needs to clear his mind a bit, and heads for the restroom. Pauses.

The wall is uneven. About a meter or so from the bathroom door and very slightly, the wood seems to peak several millimeters from the surrounding wall before sharply smoothing. He would have not noticed at all, had the hallway lights not painted shadows all along the raised edge. Excitement blooms in Subaru's chest, urges his hands along the unevenness. He hooks the tips of his fingers around the edges, pushes—

A screen-door, thick and heavy, slides inside the wall to reveal a narrow passage.

Subaru feels cold with excitement and dread. He knows what he has found – knows better than to explore further, for beyond lies something not meant for an outsider's view.

There is a myth in Japan, an old story in possession of so many twists and ends its true form is deemed lost. People trace the basic shapes, study its immortal heroes – find hidden meanings in paragraphs likely added for the sole amusement of a witty bard. _Heike Monogatari_, the story reads – a tale of a fallen Emperor, a bloody war.

Subaru thinks of it as he walks: The Taira Clan, cursed for the godlessness of its patriarch, falls to shame and ruin in a struggle for power. From their ashes the Minamoto Clan emerges victorious, brings about much-needed order rooted in military might and the samurai spirit. Scholars shake their heads at the implications, point to the whimsical manner in which even the roughest of Minamoto warriors regards the fallen Taira Court, the elegance of old Japan that has fallen with it. The suicide of Emperor Antoku, the last Taira ruler, marks the end of the Reign of Amateresu's descendants and the true Emperors of Japan.

These are the stories Subaru grew up with: tales of valor and the necessity of death, of the price his nation has paid to move forward with the wider world. It is not the young Emperor he has been taught to pity, but what he stands for – what is lost with the boy's escape from humiliation and defeat in the mortal world. Grandmother's voice narrates the tale in Subaru's mind, carefully maps out the subtle thread of religion which binds the story together: Disrespect of the Gods brings the proud Taira to their knees, thwarts and sinks their every move. A Buddhist nun, Antoku's grandmother, urges her grandson to die rather than face defeat.

The Three Sacred Treasures – _Kusanagi_, _Yata no Kagami_, and _Yasakani no Magatama_ – are said to have been lost with Emperor Antoku, to have disappeared in the depths of the river which took the boy's life. The story insists adamantly that not one of those sacred items ever fell into Minamoto's hands, but falls short of calling them lost. For the Imperial sword, mirror, and jewel embody Japan's spirit, the being of its people, which – while perhaps subdued under the necessity of order and military expansion – must live on. Instead, the tale hints at three hidden Shinto shrines, each entrusted with one of the treasures until a true ruler once again ascends Japan's throne.

Subaru does not know if he believes the legend, cares little about who is ruling what and when. What he does think about as he navigates the winding passage, descends a short flight of stone stairs, is the very real honor ancient shrines and important families are sometimes given. For there is a hidden section of Grandmother's house, as well: a secret chamber many flights into the ground. Subaru has been allowed there only once, yet the image of walls and cabinets filled with thick tomes, fragile scrolls remains clear in his mind. But a child then, he had been nonetheless impressed by the foreign words, the colorful illustrations telling stories of countries long forgotten – of Japan's own ancient past. The desire to study, to prove himself and be allowed a closer look at all of those treasures had blossomed in his mind then, motivated him through long nights in cramped chambers bathed in the smell of incense and ink.

There is no light here, and Subaru is forced to navigate by touch. Slowly, he makes his way along the weathered walls, carefully searching for another hidden door. He reaches the end of the underground passage, has to retrace his steps several times before his fingers detect a slight indention in the wall. A door. Blind in the complete darkness, Subaru fumbles for several moments with the mechanism which allows the screen to be slid free, for the door itself to be revealed and opened. Succeeds.

More darkness spills out from the open room; Subaru steps inside, fully expecting this chamber to be as empty as all the rest – plundered of any treasures it may have once held safe. Yet the desire to see, to know has been reawakened in him – wants he had deemed long dead. He must see.

Subaru reaches for his cellphone, seeking the artificial light the device would bring. Freezes.

"Will you struggle?" a dark, amused voice husks into his ear, "Or will you die the way you live?"

The arm which had wrapped about Subaru's torso tightens, presses both of his against the larger body behind him. Subaru wills his heartbeat to slow, tries to shake the creeping panic off. Fails as a long blade presses against his throat; a sword?

"Turn around," the man bids him, voice pleasant. Insane, Subaru thinks and tries to comply. The man's grip loosens, just a little – not enough to struggle free, almost not enough to move at all. Subaru feels his entire body rub against the other's as he turns, shivers in panic and disgust.

"Look up," the man sounds amused. Subaru nods, mind dimming – detaching from reality, the danger he is likely in. Subaru looks up, eyes still mostly blind.

_Kamui!_ He gasps, feels foolish a second after. The man regarding him with cold interest looks nothing like the rebellious teen, sans his being Japanese: His hair is wilder, his eyes a light shade of brown startling in its rareness. The lips, stretched into a cruel smile, are thinner and the body much larger than the one Subaru had once held close. Powerful. Muscles bunch the simple black top the other wears, press Subaru closer with each inhale.

The man has been studying him as well, unsettling eyes tracing Subaru's face with obvious interest. Awareness seeps back into Subaru's mind: fear and a bit of anger flush his cheeks with adrenaline.

"Let me go," he tries to push away, to dislodge the other somehow. The man smiles, almost congenial, and slams his head against Subaru's; the resulting pain and dizziness halt his clumsy struggles.

"Don't make me hurt you, Subaru-kun."

"How…" Subaru tries to focus, to keep himself from losing grip. The man smiles again and Subaru is horrified to feel a hand sliding down his back.

"Shh. So skittish," the blade bites into his neck in warning. Subaru cannot control the shivers which twist his skin, squeezes his eyes shut.

The hand folds about his body, passes his hips and slips into his pocket. His cellphone is removed and the hand is gone, leaving Subaru almost weak with relief.

Dialing. Subaru tries to focus, seeking a moment of weakness in the other's iron grip. Perhaps this call will provide him with a distraction, a chance to run. He only needs to make it out of this room, to slide the screen shut, since the door locks from the outside—

Subaru stills, tries to think through his panic. The door locks from the outside.

"Good evening," mocking, the man's voice fills his ears. Subaru does not pay attention to the meaningless banter which ensues, too intent on making his own presence as unobtrusive and forgettable as possible. He despairs to feel the grip about him strengthen instead, the call obviously not turning as his captor has expected. Subaru chances a glance up, shivers to find those cold eyes focused on him. Their gazes meet and the man's scowl lessens, lips splitting to reveal sharp, white teeth.

"Oh, but I am not alone," the man says. Subaru squeezes his eyes shut, feels the tiny cellphone press against his ear, the buttons crushed under his cheek, "Be polite and say hello," the man urges. Subaru tries to speak past the lump in his throat – this is a chance to ask for help, to tell someone to—

"H-hello," he says instead. He has gotten himself into this, and – Subaru would have laughed had the situation not been so dire. He does not know he is so foolishly proud.

The line is quiet for a long moment, and Subaru reminds himself that the man is insane, that there is likely no one on the other side. That is, until a familiar voice rumbles "Subaru-kun," back.

The phone is gone almost before he can process what has happened.

"He is fine," the man is saying. Subaru shakes his head; he is not, and the hand about his waist has begun moving again, stroking along the ridges of his spine, "But I am so very bored. Who knows what might happen…" Something not too satisfactory must have been said, for the blade presses closer, makes him arch uncomfortably in the man's arms.

"No. Fifteen minutes, or you will be getting him back in pieces," the man grins down at him, strokes farther up his back, "Isn't this sweet," he coos into the receiver, looks at the smaller man, "Tell me, Subaru-kun: are you a virgin?"

Blood pounds in Subaru's ears. The meager light the phone offered disappears, a quiet thump marking where the device had been discarded on the floor. "Now," lips against his throat, "We wait."

"You have no right—" Subaru starts and the man laughs. Sharp teeth bite into Subaru's neck, draw pink lines along his throat and make him gasp. The sword digs into his neck, breaks the skin; the green of his shirt tinges red.

"No? You didn't either." The weapon drops, slamming into the floor with much noise. Subaru tries to break the man's grip, allows himself more violence now: his hands push, twist, finally break free and grasp the man's neck. The angle is too awkward, however, and he cannot get a good grip. No matter; he digs his nails in the man's throat, feels the skin slicken with blood.

Again, amusement is his response. Too strong, the other is, and Subaru is horrified to feel himself lose balance with a twist of the man's hips. Both hands free now, the man grabs Subaru's shoulders and _pushes_, hurling them both against a wall. Subaru stumbles over the discarded blade, feels his skull rattle against a wooden plank. Reality loses its sharpness, the body pressed against his own solid, unmovable. Subaru's hands loosen, almost resting around the other's neck.

"Weak," the dark voice hisses, the word punctuated by a rough bite at his jaw. Subaru keens, arches away yet into the touch with nowhere else to go. "You don't deserve him."

_Who?_ Subaru tries to say, but his mouth is suddenly full. A slick tongue, rough lips slide against his own, the body atop of his beginning to move in an unknown yet familiar rhythm. Subaru shakes, disgusted at it all. He jerks his head back, slams it against the wall in an effort to escape. "Get off me," he snarls, hands once again tightening around the man's throat. He pulls and twists, hears the man's breath come in wheezes and coughs. Yet the other continues to move – with greater urgency, Subaru is horrified to realize. Hate, cold and terrible, suddenly sharpens his senses. He has never wished for someone's death before, never wanted to tear another's life away – piece by bloody piece. His own weakness makes him angrier, pushes him to biting at the other's tongue, lips, until blood fills his mouth. His hands tighten, tighten, and he bares his teeth, stares into insane brown eyes. A moment more, he is sure, and he will die, Subaru will _kill_ him—

The man stills, comes with a strangled cry of "Kamui!" Subaru does not allow himself to think about the exclamation, his own horror. Instead he uses the moment and all of his remaining strength to push the other off him, sends the larger form stumbling back into the dark. Then he runs, slams into the wall beside the door before finding the opening – it all being the same shade of inky black. With hurried, trembling hands he slides the thick screen shut, locked once again, just as a heavy body thuds against it from the inside.

"You forgot your phone," his voice taunts, a rough, unhinged laughter echoing down the corridor. Subaru turns, walks away at a brisk, unbalanced pace. Seething. Shaking.

He find the stairs, takes them two at a time to the upper level, cursing his own foolishness. At the top step he nearly runs into someone; Monou.

"Where were you?" the woman hisses, her face smudged by shadows. Subaru's eyes narrow, suddenly uncaring – furious. Hokuto does not need this, this empty pretentiousness. He opens his mouth to tell her just that.

"Subaru-kun."

Monou steps aside. A taller form separates from the hallway shadows: black glasses, dark-gray suit. Subaru takes a deep breath, straightens; realizes he is shaking bad enough to make his teeth rattle.

The woman glances between them, rolls her eyes. "Take care of the brat," she waves a manicured hand towards Subaru, already descending what he is sure to be a shortcut to hell, "I will rein Fuuma in."

Sakurazuka takes a cautious step forward, another. Subaru flinches but does not shrug off the arm that wraps around him, pulls him gently closer to the older man. "My sister," he suddenly remembers, looks over Sakurazuka's shoulder as if expecting Hokuto to materialize there.

"I called a taxi to take her home," Monou's voice seems ghostly, detached as it currently is from her physical form, "She fell asleep."

Subaru doubts that very much. Sakurazuka, perhaps reading the violence thrumming in his body, holds Subaru tighter and shakes his head.

"Your sister is fine, Subaru-kun. The wine must have gotten to her head." Subaru looks at the other's face, is distracted by the gentle smile he finds there, "She did ask after you, of course, and I promised to return you home safely."

They are lying. He knows Hokuto is well – Subaru has always been able to tell when something is wrong with her. She is a part of him, a colorful presence just beneath his own in the confines of his mind. If he concentrates he can feel the softness of the duvet under her body, count her sleeping breaths. She is home, safe, and it does not make sense – she would have never left him behind.

He is led through the house, down the stone steps and into Sakurazuka's parked car. The man continues talking – a soft chatter meant to set him at ease, calm him. Subaru straps the safety belt in, refuses to so much as look in the older man's direction.

The drive back is silent. There is no traffic at one o'clock in the morning and they reach the city-proper quickly. At a red light Sakurazuka asks for directions.

"I am not going back yet," Subaru answers. Sakurazuka raises an eyebrow, his face still soft and gentle. Fake. "Subaru-kun, it is quite late. Surely whatever business you have can wait until morning."

"It cannot wait," Subaru bites out, amused and ashamed of his own forwardness in equal measures. Good manners, he is coming to realize, do not get one very far, "We need to talk."

"Oh?" The kind persona cracks, just a bit. Subaru is darkly satisfied to see Sakurazuka's gloved hands tighten around the wheel.

The temperature in the car seems to rise, tension thickens between them. Subaru turns to look at the other man, startled to find naked blue eyes trained on his face. They regard each other in silence, studying contours and shapes, muscles tense with the need to move. The light has long turned green, but Sakurazuka keeps the car grounded, as if holding time itself still. His eyes narrow; very slowly, he reaches a hand – Subaru keeps himself still even as his whole body focuses on the approaching warmth. Carefully, smooth leather trails along his cheek, slides down the sharp curve of his jaw. Subaru shudders, tries to keep his eyes open – fights against the urge to tilt his head away and bare his throat. The fingers skim over a tender spot and he winces, feels the ghost of Fuuma's teeth.

The gentle mask crumbles completely. Shadows lengthen across Sakurazuka's face, lick at the slope of his nose and lips.

"I told him not to touch you," Sakurazuka speaks, serious. Angry. Subaru feels the words against his skin, in his _mouth_— He gasps wetly, shudders, clenches nerveless fingers about the other's shoulders.

_You are mine_, the blue eyes whisper, drown him.

Subaru nods, feels his own heart beat a breathy _yes_.

* * *

><p><strong>Vocabulary<br>**  
><strong>Shibuya 109 <strong>- the most famous shopping plaza in Japan. If you are familiar with brands such as Egoist (Gackt favors the perfume, from what I hear), that is where one may find them.

**Ganguro and Kogal** – Japan is known for its crazy fashion-styles. Ganguro involves super-tanned skin and bleached hair, along with a ton of make-up and colorful clothing. Kogal is more punk-ish. I recommend browsing an issue of FRUiTS for some cool examples.

**_Kusanagi_****, _Yata no Kagami_, and _Yasakani no Magatama_** – the Three Sacred Treasures; a sword, a mirror, and a jewel

**_Wikipedia articles about:_**

Heike Monogatari

Three Sacred Treasures of Japan


	8. Chapter 8

**Note**: A bit faster than I expected. Enjoy.

**All is owned by CLAMP.**

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><p>It is nearly three by the time they make it to Sakurazuka's home. Subaru studies the road, tries to lose his exhaustion in the shadowed buildings they speed by. Still, he feels time slipping; Sakurazuka's hard voice pulls slumber from his eyes by force.<p>

"We are here."

Subaru exits the car without stumbling much, trails after Sakurazuka's blurry shape. The elevator takes them to the thirteenth floor – the very top; Subaru tries not to be too impressed.

"Slippers are to the right."

He nods, bents to remove his shoes. Sakurazuka toes his off next to him, shrugging off his suit jacket as he enters the apartment. Subaru slips a pair of soft, dark-blue slippers on and moves to follow him. Pauses.

Two rows of neatly-spaced, dark-toned shoes line the small cabinet in the hall. To the right of them, a tiny mountain of footwear wobbles to and fro. The high-heeled, metal studded boot at the very top is very familiar. Subaru blinks.

"Kamui lives here."

"He does." he startles, focusing on Sakurazuka's blank face looming above him, "Do try not to wake him. Now," the older man smiles, lifts a teapot painted in pink sunflowers, "Tea?"

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><p>Chamomile does wonders against stress, Subaru must admit. Serene, half-buried in Sakurazuka's plush divan, he knows he should be trying to slit his wrists in a bathtub somewhere with the day he has had. Yet he cares not.<p>

He should drink tea more often.

"So," Sakurazuka sets his own cup of black tea onto the low table, laces his fingers together in a provocative manner. Wait. No, it is perfectly normal; Subaru squints up at him, "You had something to ask me, Subaru-kun?"

"Yes," Yes, he did. Does. So what was it? Subaru shakes his head, suddenly not so happy at the relaxed state he is in. "The clothes." There was something else- "She hadn't seen the clothes."

"What clothes?" Subaru does not like those sunglasses, not at all; it makes him feel like he is talking to a face with two gaping holes in it. "You are not making much sense, Subaru-kun. I am afraid the stress—"

"Monou!" Subaru waves the pink fluff away from his face. Stupid fluff. "Kanoe Monou. She hadn't seen Hokuto's designs before tonight, had she?"

Sakurazuka regards him for a long moment. Then he smiles, slow and perfect, and what is Subaru asking about again – "No. She had not."

Subaru nods. "Why?"

"And why should I tell you?" Sakurazuka leans back into his own seat, obviously amused.

"Because. You did something," he blinks, tries to hold onto his focus, "Something. And then I got molested. Therefore, you owe me an explanation." That makes sense.

"I did not make you sneak around Kanoe's house, Subaru-kun." Subaru scowls; damn it, that makes sense too. Sakurazuka smiles back, "How about we make a deal: I will answer your questions, if you answer mine."

Subaru should think this over. He should, because there are things that—"Okay." Or not.

"Excellent. You may go first," Sakurazuka's lips reveal teeth, "I am a gentleman."

Subaru does not know how to respond to that, so he says nothing. He tries to think through the fog enveloping his senses, to discern a question worth revealing something of himself. The light glints off Sakurazuka's sunglasses as he moves—there, "Fuuma." There is no change to Sakurazuka's expression, "Who is he? And how," Subaru's hands tighten into fists, anger sharpening his mind, "How does he know Kamui?"

Sakurazuka seems genuinely unhappy for a brief moment before his face melts back into blankness, "I am afraid that particular tale is long, Subaru-kun, and not mine to tell." Subaru opens his mouth and Sakurazuka holds up a hand, "I will, however, inform you of the situation. It will be most inconvenient to allow him the advantage of secrecy; he is hardly in need of another weapon."

Subaru thinks of that dark room, of the man trapped within it, and agrees. There is something untouchable, magnificent about Fuuma – Subaru wonders if he has always been so, or if the insanity lighting those brown eyes had freed him, allowed him access to that which morality and basic humanness forbid.

"He and Kamui were lovers, once." Sakurazuka seems to be thinking his words over, careful with what he reveals and what he keeps hidden. Subaru nods him along, having guessed as much from the man's vulgar play. It does not make him happy to think of them together, of Fuuma's uncaring hands about Kamui's small body, but he needs to hear this, so—

_So what?_ A mocking voice teases his heart, _So you can protect him? You, who could not protect yourself?_

"Kamui was young – too young." Sakurazuka continues, "My sister – his mother – was understandably not too happy when she found out about them. She forbade Kamui from seeing Fuuma again, called Fuuma's father – the usual parental response," He pauses, grins emptily, "With rather unfortunate results."

"Kamui was sent back to live with Mother in Okinawa that summer; I suspect his attitude issues worsened rather than improved as a result. Fuuma—"Sakurazuka sighs, threads a hand through his hair, "Kanoe Monou." Subaru blinks at the sudden twist in the conversation, but does not interrupt. After a moment, Sakurazuka picks up the tale again, "The house she lives in – the Monou family estate. It has belonged to the Monou Clan for over two hundred years. That room, that moth-eaten cellar you stumbled into, Subaru-kun – that is where fifteen-year-old Fuuma Monou spent seven months of his life." A sneer curls the older man's mouth, "I find it rather distasteful that Kanoe has taken up her brother's habits."

"Is that why," Subaru stops, closes his eyes. Trapped in darkness, pressed against by the ghostly memories of two hundred unhappy years – he shudders, "Did that make him…"

"Insane? Perhaps," Sakurazuka shrugs, "Perhaps not. I suspect neither he nor his sister were ever very stable."

"How did he escape?" Subaru hesitates, "Does Kamui know about any of this?"

"He did not. His sister called the police when her brother failed to return from the 'basketball camp' he had supposedly joined. A couple of low-profile prosecutions later, Kanoe Monou gained full guardianship of her nephews and their house. As for Kamui – too much happened the following year for him to wonder about what anyone outside of himself was doing."

Subaru is aware this is not nearly the full story, but cannot think of a way to press for more information. "Tell me this: does he pose any danger to Kamui?"

Sakurazuka smiles thinly, "I would be more concerned about myself if I were you, Subaru-kun. What did he say to you?"

Subaru tries to remember, relates what he can. Sakurazuka nods, somehow amused. Subaru wonders how sane Sakurazuka himself is, "He appears to know about you, and your past relationship with Kamui."

"But how, if he was trapped down there—" Subaru takes a breath; not important. "What about Hokuto? Does he know of her?"

Sakurazuka shakes his head. "I do not think he will try to harm her; Fuuma understands the importance of a sister."

Something teases Subaru's brain: suspicion. "How do you know all of this?"

Sakurazuka smiles, pours himself more tea. "You wish to know quite a bit. Knowledge is dangerous, Subaru-kun." He stirs a cube of sugar into the dark liquid, "Very well. I came back to Japan two years ago, to attend my sister's funeral and claim Kamui as a son under law." He smirks, finally removes those forsaken sunglasses, "As I was in need of a job at the time, I agreed to aid the therapy of a certain troubled teenager."

"Fuuma?" Sakurazuka nods. Subaru does not know what scares him more: the fact that Sakurazuka has a psychology degree or that he had spent long hours conversing with a man who uses swords as persuasion devices, "And you want me to believe it all to be a lucky coincidence?"

"You must understand, Subaru-kun – I care not what others believe or wish." Subaru can see the sharpness of Sakurazuka's grin in his eyes; it is mildly distracting. He has somehow come closer, or has Subaru leaned forward? He is not sure, but it cannot go on.

"I do not—"

Silence. A soft kiss, then another; the sugary tea along Sakurazuka's lips makes their mouths stick together, part reluctantly – petulant lovers themselves. Subaru feels warm down to his fingernails, so he threads them through the older man's dark hair, presses him closer. Their noses bump, and the next kiss Sakurazuka takes is of Subaru's smile. Subaru angles his head and feels the tease of eyelashes against his skin, large hands curving about him. Safe. Even kneeling, Sakurazuka is so much larger than him; Subaru thinks of the man's knees against the carpet, his thighs pressed against Subaru's own, and shudders. The next kiss parts Subaru's lips, but slowly, with much greater care than –

_Greedy lips against his skin. Teeth and metal bite into him and he wants to shout, cry, runrunrun—_

"Stop!"

His gaze is muddled. The room spins in and out of focus, a gray kaleidoscope of shadows that should not be there. Subaru tries to think, to remind himself where he is and who is holding him, but fatigue and long-suppressed panic override his senses. They are not so different, Fuuma and Sakurazuka: strong, dark, devilishly smug – unapologetic about the chaos their very presence creates.

"L-let me—" _up, out, leavemealone!_ Subaru bites at the hand smothering his fright, refuses to let the man's soft voice lull him into silence.

Pain; sharp and sudden, it urges him to open his eyes. Past his own anxious tears he sees cold, unhappy blue eyes—blue. He stills.

The hand lifts from his lips. Sakurazuka's warm fingers gently rub the redness blooming in his cheek. "Forgive me, Subaru-kun. You would not listen." The hands move down Subaru's arms in the same non-threatening manner, calming the remnant shivers wracking the younger man's skin.

Subaru is panting. He feels cold sweat trail down his back and arches away, into Sakurazuka's arms. Stills.

"Sakurazuka-san."

"You called me Seishirou, before." the other smiles, not moving away. Subaru lets him do as he will. "There is no need for honorifics now."

"I can't…" Subaru shakes his head. Something is wrong, something— "Ask me now. I do not think I can remain awake much longer."

Sakurazuka—no, Seishirou leans in, examines him by eye. His lids lower in suspicion and he kisses Subaru again, but briefly, almost as a test. Subaru's eyes follow Seishirou's tongue as it trails the man's own lips, past questioning the desire he feels heating his skin. Those blue eyes shift, focus on Subaru's teacup resting innocently on the table.

Seishirou sighs and straightens. "This is the last time I take that witch's advice," Subaru thinks he hears him murmur. He stares at the hand the older man extends, feels a little confused and a lot exhausted as he is pulled up and out of his comfortable seat.

"I must apologize, Subaru-kun, but it seems we will have to continue our conversation another time." Seishirou helps him navigate the couch with a charming smile and Subaru is too distracted by… everything, really, to complain. The older man reaches for his sunglasses as they pass the table, tries to slide them on while simultaneously supporting Subaru's body. Tries to.

Subaru smiles, too wide and happy, at the man's inquisitive look. "I don't like them," he says, waving the captive pair of shades in explanation.

"Ah," Seishirou nods slowly, obviously amused. "Alright, then."

They make it to the door. Seishirou lowers Subaru to the top step marking the entryway and Subaru pulls his boots on, thankful that he does not need to tie or buckle anything in his current state. His vision is smothered by fluffy sparkles and he bats at them in irritation. But they persist. At his second try, a warm hand envelopes his own and he looks up, smiles dizzily at Seishirou's face. Standing upright, the man towers over his seated form, his features covered by shadows and strands of dark, dark hair.

"You still see them," he says, Subaru thinks he says. Strong hands lift him up, up— "Do you remember, Subaru-kun?" Back to chest, Subaru feels the words against his neck, lets his head rest against the man's shoulder.

_What?_ He wants to say, but does not. Because he knows. "Ask me," he breathes, and the lips stretch into a devilish grin against his skin.

"Do you remember the Sakura, Subaru-kun?" a soft, lingering kiss. Subaru moans and leans closer, the world spinning beyond Seishirou's warmth. "Do you remember me?"

_It was raining; heavy and malicious, like breaking eggs: Plick-plock. Rainwater and mud slide down the roof of the little church, along the paths and into the graves, drowning rotting bodies and greedy maggots. It sloshes in his shoes, thickens his black suit and sticks it to his body. Smothered. _

_He had left them, her, by the coffin. _

_Dark shapes grab at his hands, his hair as he walks, down, down a garden of stone crosses. Rich, heavy buds bloom golden-brown and rose against brown bark. He trips over a skeleton root, lets himself crumple underneath a pink canopy of sweet-smelling blossoms. Rain and tears mingle, scar his skin; he blinks them away, presses his ears closed against the dead's haunting songs._

_He thinks him a spirit at first: the young man with dark clothes and darker smile. The rain slides along his thin shoulders, the wiry hands buried in soaked jeans and Subaru glares, tries to warn him away._

"_Hello." The other steps close, crowds him against the ash-gray tree. Their eyes meet and Subaru shudders, wonders if he is seeing right. _

_The man holds Subaru's defiant gaze for a moment, unsmiling, then drops down next to him. Their knees bump and the other hums, offers him a half-empty pack of cigarettes. Subaru shakes his head._

Gray silence. Subaru sways in Seishirou's hold. _Yes_.

"_The sakura blooms most beautifully among the dead." Dark, the teen's voice sticks to his wet skin like smoke. "Didn't you know?" he leans closer, rests his head against Subaru's arm, "Blood and flesh are sweet to them." He chuckles, "Life for life."_

There was something more – a memory deeper, more important than the others. Subaru fights against slumber's pull, pushes away from Seishirou. Think, he must, yet shadows eat at his gaze, the light slips through his fingers. He turns, tries to tell Seishirou something, something—

A small form stumbles from an open doorway, dark hair falling into darker eyes. Surprise and hope widen them and the boy takes a step forward.

"Subaru-kun?"

The world tilts. A higher voice cries, "Subaru!"

Transparent fingers pull his eyes closed. He gives up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes:** A bit too overwhelmed this semester for regular updates. Next chapter should be done around Thanksgivings.

**NOT MINE. CLAMP's.** I don't think I want to have any ownership rights over Fuuma.

* * *

><p>Sleep is difficult to let go. Heavy, it hangs over him with fierce possessiveness, and Subaru is tempted to indulge. Nothing touches him here – no worries, no fears; no illusions of kindness. Had he been as alone as he feels, he might have given in – might have lain there, until sustenance no longer held a purpose.<p>

But he is not. Hokuto's existence is the gods' most precious gift to him but it, too, has a price.

Already, reality is seeping in. Sunlight caresses his face, trails over his lips; the sound of muffled traffic is the song Tokyo wakes up to every morning. He shifts, moans hoarsely, hazy confusion clinging to his mind even as his eyes open.

A soft, beige ceiling. His gaze trails lower, over bare walls and cream, carpeted floor. He is lying on a bed of blue. Subaru looks down at his hands, finds them covered by a thick, white comforter: A blank canvas. He cannot remember much of last night – almost nothing beyond a silent drive to Sakurazuka's home. What does come to mind, however, is of cruel vividness and he is awake in an instant, trembling with emotion. Clarity is not always to be desired.

"Seishirou-san."

The door opens, becomes a frame for the man his words seem to have summoned; _Call to Him, and He shall come._

"Subaru-kun."

The image breaks; Seishirou walks in and Subaru nods his way, pushes to sit up. His head feels heavy and he almost tumbles backwards, if not for the sudden pressure at the back of his neck.

"Careful; you had a bit too much last night."

_Of what?_Subaru looks up, sees the man with the cheery smile and gentle eyes; him again. Is there a point to pointing out this fraud?

Hokuto. He must go. He must go _now_.

"Let me up."

Seishirou pauses in whatever one-sided chatter he had been indulging. The sound of his words dissipates in the air, stealing away some of the morning's warmth. A moment passes; an impasse.

Support transforms into pressure and a large hand suddenly curves about throat, trails teasingly over the bulge of his Adam's apple. Subaru stills, the pain of Hokuto's absence drowning under the sudden spill of adrenaline in his veins. Lower; long fingers slide down the twin-curves of his collarbone, burning against Subaru's trembling skin. A blunt nail traces their shape once, twice, and Subaru feels his entire body lurch against it, against the one holding him down.

"You seemed so small in that bed." Vulnerable.

Subaru starts, wretches his head away. The hand does not attempt to hold him back but remains extended towards him – expectant_. You will be coming back._

"An illusion." He slides off the bed and to his feet. His clothes, Hokuto's latest creation, are wrinkled beyond propriety. He pulls at them in short, jerky movements.

"Much is." Seishirou agrees. Subaru hears him move and resists the need to turn, to keep this man in his sight. A moment later he wishes he has as heavy hands rest, once more, at the sides of his throat.

"Seishirou—" He cautions, too close to his breaking point. The older man hums lowly; Subaru starts at the sudden weight about his neck, against his chest.

He looks down – at the fingers just visible underneath his chin and the sharp jut of dark wood. His own hands rise to touch the heavy charm, the smooth leather wrapped loosely about his throat. Seishirou's hands linger over his, then retreat, smoothing down his arms to rest beneath his elbows. A step back, and he will be completely enveloped in him; Subaru shudders and shakes his head.

"What is this?"

"Omamori," he can feel the older man's smile against his skin, lips barely touching the jut of his spine. "I would think you are familiar with them."

Subaru is suddenly aware that his head is bowed, that Seishirou's face is curved above his own. What a picture they must make: a large, dark body wrapped about a smaller, lanky form. The shadow swallowing its host.

He shudders, and tries to convince himself it is from disgust.

"Why?"

No answer. After a moment, Seishirou steps back.

"I called a taxi for you."

The door remains open after he leaves. Has it been so the entire time? He had been too distracted to notice. Absorbed.

Subaru does not follow right away. Instead, he lets his mind rest in the silence which surrounds him, allows his body to simply exist. It is a form of meditation, perhaps. He stares at his hands folded in his lap, disregards the noises of Tokyo waking beyond the bedroom window. For a brief, memory-less moment, he is whole.

"The taxi is downstairs."

It is not Seishirou. Subaru does not know what to do, so he remains as he is: sitting at the edge of the blue-white bed, long legs spread and braced against the soft floor.

"At least talk to me." Kamui's voice is no more than a whisper.

Subaru looks up. Kamui remains in the doorway, neither in nor out, dark head bowed – a flower's bloom weighted by dew. He looks so devastatingly small, the contours of his body invisible under the cloth of cream-colored pajamas. Subaru can't help but love him, want him just for a moment in his arms.

"Kamui," Subaru can no longer hold him, but he can do this much. Acknowledge their past intimacy through his name, attaching no suffix, no reminder of the distance between them – more real now than it had ever been when they were but strangers traveling on the same train.

The balance has shifted with Seishirou's presence, toppled completely under Fuuma's capricious attention, and Subaru has no way of righting it.

Kamui looks up at his name, the sound of Subaru's voice. The boy's face is drawn, skin bruised from too little sleep underneath wide, glazed eyes. The slight shake of the air about him speaks of anxiousness – of too many nights spent contemplating the dark. _You must take care of yourself,_Subaru wants to say, but knows he has no right – understands the stubbornness of an unhappy mind too well. Kamui does not need empty words.

He has nothing left to offer him.

"I will go, then."

The boy's eyes narrow. Strange; Subaru looks at him without really seeing, eyes trying to grasp something that has no physical substance. Kamui pays his sudden inattentiveness no heed, too absorbed in his own pain and turmoil. He feels rather like a storm, barely contained by the flesh of his body and a cage of brittle bones; when Kamui's skin touches his, Subaru almost screams.

"Kamui—" Something black slides down the boy's shirt – Subaru grasps for it just as Kamui's forehead presses underneath his chin, slight arms wrapping about Subaru's body. The cut of his décolleté allows for too much contact between them, grounds him, and Subaru loses sight of the dark shape, blinks the physical room back into focus.

"Don't leave me." He hears the words against his heart, feels their power bind him to this lost boy. Does Kamui know what he is doing?

Does Subaru?

"I won't." Subaru lets his hand smooth down the boy's back, ending at the curve of his waist, "But I cannot do this for you."

The storm dissipates and Kamui sags, exhausted, in his arms. Subaru rests his head atop the soft hair nestled underneath his chin.

"He got you, didn't he?" surrender. How sad he sounds.

How relieved. Only now does it occur to Subaru that Kamui, too, may have had no clue as of what to do with him.

"I knew – that day in the parking lot," Kamui continues, voice dull – as if telling a story, a narration of someone else's life. "He _changed_ when he saw us. You wouldn't know, you haven't seen how he is, was… But when he saw us," Kamui shudders, "When he saw _you_there, on your knees on the pavement, I—"

Subaru remembers: the scrape of concrete, the smell of benzene. Kamui's soft mouth on his; innocent kisses and soft hands in dark hair, sharing warmth and kindness – even then, that had been all. Suddenly, a shadow had fallen over them, a voice – he had stolen Subaru's breath away without even trying, set his heart beating like a caged hare's.

Kamui's touch had grown cold on him. That had been the end.

"Then in the car. I wondered – how could you not feel it? It was pressing against me, smothering me, that—" Kamui grasps for words, sighs, "I hated him, and I hated you. I hated you because I wanted to protect you but I couldn't, not from something you might…"

Silence. Subaru strokes through Kamui's hair, gently eases him away.

Kamui says nothing, gaze on the floor.

"I will go," he really should. The taxi driver must be cursing his ancestors by now, "But I promise to return. Here," he looks around, spots an ink-pen resting atop a notepad on a small side-table. Quickly, he notes down his address and a phone number, pushes the paper into Kamui's hands. "You are welcome any time."

Kamui stares at the blue-lined square, fingers wrinkling the edges in their desperate grip. Noticing this he quickly gentles his hold; Subaru looks away, uncomfortable with such importance being placed on something of his.

The rest of the apartment is silent, spotted with shadows and morning sunshine. Seishirou must have left – work, perhaps. Subaru will speculate about the man's possible occupation for the rest of the day. He squats in the foyer, puts his boots on in quick, efficient motions. Too much time has been lost already.

"You are different," Kamui's voice echoes down the hallway, a bit confused. A little envious, "Why did you change?"

"How," Subaru corrects, the door shutting behind him, "You meant to say how."

Fitting, that he does not know himself.

* * *

><p>Hokuto is not mad.<p>

Hokuto is not scared, relieved, or interested in his presence at all, really, because Hokuto is not _awake_.

Subaru contemplates this from his place next to the bed, hanging over his sister's sleeping form like a particularly anxious gargoyle. She does not seem unwell; her cheeks are a bit rosier than he remembers, but that may be due to the inordinate amount of blankets piled on top of her. He tilts his head to the side, assessing the blues and reds and greens, the covers of several different thicknesses and makes which lie haphazardly over the bed. Hokuto herself is the center of the rainbow, in her outfit of vibrant yellow.

Gently, he presses his palm over her forehead. No fever. Maintaining the contact, he closes his own eyes and lets darkness enfold him, consciously grasps for that which had been forcing itself on him lately. The eagerness with which it pulls, envelops him is startling: Hungry energy drags over his skin in torrents, feeding from him as it nurses his senses. Aches, the remnants of a dizzy headache disappear, righted under the stream of light.

Subaru is a natural center. Magic flows through him, into him – interacts with his personal ki and feeds on his energy. Reflects his will, when it suits it. Subaru had been delighted about this, once – had run to show his Obaa-san, Hokuto-chan, the pretty little flower that had bloomed just for him.

Had watched it shrivel back into a seedling in Grandmother's hand, felt the weight of her disapproving eyes.

_This is not a game, Subaru. Be it life or death, it is not yours to give._

Nature seeks balance, and when a discrepancy occurs it seeks _them_– those able to mend it. Onmyoudou is not the practice of power, but the protection of order – a responsibility he was told he should be proud to bear. And he had been. Had been foolish enough to believe himself capable of doing so.

She had died looking up at him.

A sudden crash wakes him, makes him aware of the papers and pens and other odd-ends moving sporadically about the room in response to his dark thoughts. He stills his mind, berating himself of his idiocy; this, exactly this had been the problem.

_What? Because you can feel? Because you are human?_

Subaru smiles at the memory of Hokuto's voice. He can always trust her to put things into a better is not willing to accept her reasoning, but her blind faith in him is soothing nonetheless.

Speaking of Hokuto; his lips pull down into a frown. A light, barely-noticeable film of pink dusts her mouth and eyes, like drops of blood. Most had dissolved on their own; what few remain he sweeps away, freeing the colorful threads that are Hokuto's ki to roam as they please. Predictably, they stretch towards him – even her soul is grabby.

A sleeping spell, perhaps a bit more. Subaru thinks back on knowledge he has been trying, failing to forget for the past two years. She will likely remain unconscious for a few hours more, wake not remembering much of yesterday.

Now why does that sound familiar.

Sure his sister is nothing more than asleep Subaru bids the warmth about him goodbye, opens his eyes to a disconcertingly lifeless room. So much is lost. He moves to stand, one hand distractedly rubbing at the area above his heart.

He had missed this.

The thought makes him pause, look about for a possible source of such a foolish notion. The freedom, the warmth onmyoudou gives its practitioners is an illusion, means of binding them to the needs of something well beyond human understanding.

Yet, an illusion it may be, but—

_'Much is.'_

Subaru shakes his head and resolves not to think. It has, after all, gotten him nowhere especially pleasant recently.

He is careful to make no sound as he exits. Without meaning to, his hand strays to the omamori and the cord wrapped about his throat. Another mystery.

The bathroom is a mess of cosmetics, pins, and Hokuto's make-up. Had the dinner been only last night? He urges a pile of discarded clothes aside with a socked foot, leans across the sink to examine himself in the mirror.

_Kami-sama._

The bite Fuuma had given him is ugly purple-red, a dead butterfly smeared over his chin. He rubs at it gently, wonders at the absence of pain and anger. Then his gaze slides lower, and he almost smiles: In retaliation to Fuuma's mark, Seishirou had collared him. Subaru trails his fingers across the supple leather cradling his throat and sighs; really, must men turn everything into a pissing contest?

Hokuto would have something to say about his mental distancing of himself from his own sex. He does not really care; social expectations of gender were never really high on his list of priorities when he had been growing up, even less after. He suspects Grandmother is not too happy about that, either.

Subaru lets the bite be, focuses a bit lower. Seishirou's gift hangs in the hollow between his collarbones, above the slight swell of his chest. He lifts it away from his skin gently, looks it over with open admiration. It is beautiful. The wood is smooth and sweet-smelling, like incense and amber and sakura in spring. Hand-carved, its form is nonetheless more than natural – Subaru's energy interacts with it as if it were a living tree, so masterful was its shaping.

The only inconsistency lies within the protective text, the ofuda etched in dark-red ink. Like fire-ants, the kanji of the old books run over and across their wooden host, their meaning changing depending on the direction they are read. Across, a protective spell of a strong caliber; down, a ward against the power of the Other, physical and not. Subaru cannot make sense of what the invocation changes into when read the Western way, and is careful enough not to recite it aloud.

This is no ordinary omamori. For one, the wood does not bear the seal of a Temple, a Shinto shrine – it had not been bought. Subaru flips the charm over. In the mirror, his eyes widen, hands clutch briefly at the bathroom sink.

Slowly, he makes his way into the living room, to the empty couch. His hand reaches, hesitates briefly over the phone receiver—he lets it drop, dials.

Three rings. The line is quiet in the stead of a forth.

Subaru swallows, "I will come back."

"Subaru." Grandmother's voice is, if not happy, calmer than it had been the last time they had talked.

"Yes. Not forever," he adds, not wishing to build any of her hopes. His future is his own, "But I will. I need to look into something, and I must be at the shrine to do so."

Grandmother does not ask, but is obviously pleased with his interest. She arranges a suitable date, gives him instructions on what to bring and wear without expecting any further input. Subaru lets her, fingers flipping the heavy charm on its sides, back and forth.

_What game are you playing, Seishirou-san?_

The inverted pentagram decorating the charm's back stares at him in mocking silence.

* * *

><p><strong>Vocabulary<strong>: _Omamori _- a protective charm, usually against ghosts and evil spirits.


End file.
